Victoria aut Mors
by Alter Luxus
Summary: A new Holy War, a new set of faces to fight it. After the disastrous ends to the previous two, all anyone wants is for the Sixth Holy Grail War to end smoothly, regardless of who wins. (HIATUS)
1. 00

**00**

 **Fuyuki, 2014**

It was a calm, chilly night when the Sixth Holy Grail War was announced.

The unfortunate circumstances of the Fourth and Fifth Wars were what had led them to this position—two incomplete rituals that resulted in the destruction of incomplete Grails, forcing the time between Wars to shorten to a mere ten years. Father Iwata paced the halls of the property as he contemplated the outcomes of the one to come. The saying went, "Third time's the charm," but at this point nothing could be certain. The Masters, the Servants, the overall outcome; compared to all of those, the fact that this church was neutral ground was the only certainty Iwata could think of.

Iwata had been briefed over the phone earlier regarding which mages from the Association had been selected to be Masters. Despite being part of the War as a safe haven for those without Servants, Iwata was ashamed to admit that he barely recognised some of the names listed off to him. Most priests in his position were just putting up a front, being mages first and men of the cloth second. Iwata was the lucky deviation from the trend. He may have been a mage, but his focus rested solely on his livelihood and beliefs first. He could only hope that he'd remember all the names and circumstances, all the relics that had been sent out as catalysts thus far.

He did recognise the name Oshiro, though they weren't as prominent as previous mage families involved in the Holy Grail War. According to the Association their heir passed away the previous year, leaving behind a wife who'd taken the role of Master vehemently. And then there was someone from the Okami family—a family Iwata knew just a little bit more about after tonight's phone call compared to the rest. The son of the great Ritsuka Okami was apparently taking part, which left Iwata at a loss to do with regards to the young man's circumstances.

Everything seemed to be in order for the time being, rooms clean and the chapel free of dust. Not many people came here, but Iwata was diligent when it came to how the area was presented to those in need. If this place was to serve as a haven, it would first have to _look_ like a haven.

More often than not Masters didn't utilise the church. He'd heard of maybe three examples from the past few Wars, and most of them left within days after finding a new Servant. He hoped it would be different this time around, that there would be less bloodshed between Masters. That was all he could call it: A shard of hope. Foolishly optimistic hope, but hope nonetheless. Regardless of what happened, though, Iwata was going to make sure he prayed for each Master once all of them had gathered.

He began to pace the halls once again. Sleep was going to be difficult to catch with the storm mere days away.

* * *

 **Heyo! This is a Fate SYOC, if the description wasn't obvious enough! I'm not really sure what to put here, so I'll leave some (abridged) details about this AU to help with becoming familiar with the story: In this AU, the Fifth Grail War ended in a pretty similar manner to the Fourth: The Grail, incomplete, was ultimately destroyed by an Excaliblast from Saber. This left another ten year gap between wars as opposed to the normal, longer gaps most others share. And that's how we get to 2014, where a Sixth Grail War is happening in Fuyuki. (You'll have to forgive me if any of this sounds off with how I've worded it—if you need any other info just hit me up and I'll do my best to explain further.)**

 **Just a few rules to go with this!**  
 **1\. You have to PM the characters to me. No exceptions. I wanna keep things like motivations and history a secret, as well as personality in the case of characters who put up fronts.**  
 **2\. You don't get a say in Servant. This goes for identity and class. Those were predetermined beforehand, and distribution of Servants is entirely based on chance. This is to also keep the Servant identities a mystery, since it'd be much too easy to just outright announce who they were :P**  
 **3\. Just have fun I guess? In the end that's all I hope for with this story, so have this pseudo-rule to promote it?**

 **That's it! I'll see you next time, where I'll hopefully start introducing Masters (and maybe even showing a few Servants!)**


	2. 01

**First chapter! I hope it didn't take too long to get out, but I couldn't pick who to introduce when and in which chapters and eventually I just decided to do 'em all in one. I'll be updating my profile whenever clues or identities to Servants have been revealed, but for now I'd like to introduce you all to the characters! They were sent in by (in order of character introduction) SevenMana, Shin Alter, PlayedAsWritten, Gashudokuro Amanojaku, PainX65, and LuciferXIII Trollkaiger Green, with Katya belonging to yours truly. Let me know what you think and I'll see you next chapter!**

* * *

 **01**

 **Katerina Lebedeva**

"This is hardly what I would call worthy of my summons."

"Mm-hm."

Katya tightened her coat around her, hands cupped over her mouth to keep them warm. Ever since she volunteered to become a Master in this War she'd dreaded the inevitable. The reunion with her in-laws that would, without a doubt, shake her to the core. Even though it'd only been a little over a year things still felt more severe than they were. Katya wasn't even sure she would feel confident enough to face them, Caster by her side or no.

So the best thing she could do for herself, to build up that strength, was to visit the cemetery.

It probably would've been easier to perform the summoning in the cemetery to begin with. Not that it really mattered now, the deed having been done after she'd touched down at the airport. But having Hiroya and Penko there with her to see it through sounded unbelievably comforting, especially with Katya needing to report back to the Oshiro family with regards to who she summoned.

"Feel free to wander around or something," Katya told Caster. He let out an indignant growl at the suggestion. "I won't be long."

The Oshiro family had a whole section of the cemetery dedicated to past members of their bloodline. They tended to have many children, many siblings and cousins, and more often than not those children would lead long, uneventful lives while the heir would continue the tradition of learning and breeding.

They'd buried them towards the back, having the decency to put Penko next to Hiroya. As much as they detested Katya and tried to force her out of the family, they seemed to have the common sense to recognise someone of their own flesh and blood. The two headstones declared the names of her two most beloved, the smaller of the two still heartbreaking to read once one noticed there was only a single date listed beneath their name. Katya didn't even bother to check if Caster had actually gone anywhere; she was so caught up in just how _long_ it'd been since she'd last seen them that all concerns over her privacy went out the window.

 _Hiroya Oshiro_  
 _Loving son, husband, and father  
29/06/1987 – 19/08/2013_

Katya ran her hand over her late husband's name. She didn't think she'd be facing him again so soon—though maybe a whole year was much, much too long to classify as such. He'd been her husband, for crying out loud. Grieving took time, she knew, but even her own mother had been concerned when Katya refused to renew her passport to visit her husband's grave.

To Hiroya's left was their son. Little Penko, his headstone decorated with the crests of both the Oshiro and Lebedeva families. Katya's grandmother had fought to have their crest engraved there, kicking up more fuss than even the Oshiro patriarch could handle.

 _Penko Oshiro  
"Born without breath, not without love."  
19/08/2013_

It wasn't the day Penko was born, but rather the day they had to remove him. Katya could still remember the overwhelming pain she'd been in as she'd begged for it all to be a dream, for her one chance to be part of a family to stay for a few minutes longer.

She really didn't want to do this. But, like with all major decisions, there was no point if your conscience wasn't as clear as it could be. If Katya was going to commit to the Holy Grail War, she had to tie up a few loose ends.

"I'm back, Hiroya," she began. She was met with an expected silence, but Katya still felt relief when her husband's memory didn't reply. "Sorry it took so long to come here. Things have been... Well, your father doesn't make it easy."

She could snort at how ridiculous she sounded. "The only reason I'm here is because of the Grail War. You remember how the last one failed—everyone's kind of just on the edge of their seats with this one. Fuyuki doesn't seem to have a very good track record lately. But maybe this time will be different. Who knows?"

Footsteps approached from behind, and Katya cursed inwardly. No one ever came here unless it was necessary, which meant that it was Caster who was about to walk in on her first greeting to Penko since he'd been removed from her without so much as a peep. How rude, she wanted to tell him. But then he would argue with her, and Penko would be forgotten—something Katya could not bear to do to her own child.

Purposefully ignoring Caster, she turned her gaze to Penko's headstone. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did, Penko," she sighed. "It hurts not being able to hold you anymore, but at least you're not alone. Papa will love you and protect you just like I would have. Be good for him, sweetheart."

 _How drab_ , came Caster's voice through her mind. Katya startled somewhat, faltering in her movement back from the graves. She hadn't expected him to remain silent in a physical sense—though she would admit that it was an appreciated gesture.

"Hiroya, I'm going to do something horrible tonight." Katya shoved her hands in her pockets as she made her way to Caster's side. Her eyes never left the Oshiro crest. "Not in the name of the War, either. I understand if you'll hate me for it, or if I scorn you enough to warrant a haunting." She laughed under her breath at that. She _wished_ it was that easy to bring him back to her side. "But I needed to tell you. _Počivaj v mir_ , my dears."

She bowed once. Turned to Caster. A pair of crimson eyes observed the headstones with mild interest before he finally deigned to give her his attention, and the only thing Katya could call his expression was _bored_. Like the visit was beneath him, like he had better things to do than stand around and wait for Katya to finish her visit. Fair enough, she thought. She knew how much of a diva her Servant could be—she might possibly never forget the way he'd boasted his True Name and abilities, how he'd mocked modern Magi within his first breath—and as such she knew what she needed to do to keep him from getting _too_ bored.

Not every Master and Servant team stayed together, after all. It would be pointless to have summoned Caster, only to have him betray her for another more appealing Master.

"Are you done?" he deadpanned at her. Katya nodded and gestured towards the path leading back to the gates, hardly waiting for him to follow suit as she left the graves. His footsteps didn't echo behind her straight away. Instead, the Servant let out a dull chuckle and called after her, "What could possibly be so _terrible_ that you have to warn the dead?"

"Patricide," she said, hardly missing a beat. She did pause, however, once the relationship between herself and Otohiko Oshiro—or lack thereof—was gently pushed to the front of her mind. Calling it patricide would be too generous to the man, and his opinion of Katya. He would most likely be offended if she called it that to his face, too. "Well. Legally."

"Don't bother with a sob story," Caster commanded her. He breezed past her, walking lazily to the gate with his hands in his pockets. "I'd hardly call that heinous enough to warrant a warning."

She smiled to herself. Absentmindedly, Katya's thumb traced the command seals on her other hand; it was a lovely pattern, one she would hate to disrupt by using any of them. From there she moved to turn her wristwatch towards her gaze. It was close to the time she was scheduled to meet the Oshiro family to confirm her Servant. If she and Caster left now, they'd arrive early enough to be deemed barely acceptable.

Not that Caster would let them say it out loud, let alone think it, she thought with an amused hum.

"Regardless," Katya chirped, "I believe it's time to get to work. You like work, don't you?"

It was meant as a jab, and he most certainly knew it. Caster smiled wryly over his shoulder at her, mixing in his own personal brand of venom with the glare that accompanied it. "It's about time."

* * *

 **Momoko**

Momo wasn't sure how long she'd been out for, but she definitely knew how deep the shit she was in swallowed her. Her head was killing her, pain exploding from every angle possible in her skull, and her shoulder wasn't faring much better. It felt like it was on fire—like how some people described lacerations and deep gashes. She wasn't dead yet, but she sure as hell felt like her head was going to explode.

Definitely not how she'd expected her night to go.

It was difficult to open her eyes for the moment. The silence surrounding her was ominous and foreboding. Were it not for her current state she'd be listening keenly for signs of danger, try and assess the situation she was in; instead, with tonight's rotten luck, Momo only found herself distracted. Distracted by what had gone wrong with this job, by the faces she'd seen in the brief seconds of consciousness she'd stolen, by the words that had been chanted and seeped into her dreamless sleep.

"Thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos," those voices had said, one so painfully and disgustingly familiar among them. "Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am he who command those chains."

Theories sprang to mind immediately, the biggest one being that she'd just been used in some kind of freaky cult ritual. Momo wouldn't be surprised if that were the case—pissed off, sure, but she'd seen weirder stuff than the occult in Fuyuki. Not that it made her situation any better.

Slowly and with a soft grunt, Momo did her best to force her eyes open. It was dark, beams of moonlight the only thing that allowed Momo to make out the metal skeleton of the construction site she didn't remember coming to on her own. Had the people who jumped her brought her here? Momo shook her head, instead turning her focus to her arms and legs. It didn't matter if they brought her here or not. What mattered was getting out of dodge before someone realised their sick fun hadn't really accomplished anything. One of her shoes was missing, the shoulder of her shirt torn and dirtied with mud. Momo wobbled once, twice, before finally she could stand on her own two feet.

There were a lot of things to take in as she actually took in her surroundings. There was more than just an unfinished building around her; no, something much more concerning was in her line of sight. Momo just stared, jaw dropped and crimson eyes blown wide as she counted the bodies scattered in front of her.

Seven, eight... There had to be more than a dozen there. The floor beneath them glowed red, almost too faint to see at first glance as blood and glass coated it. She didn't recognise any of the faces among the dead, and Momo wasn't sure if she considered that good or bad. She knew someone who'd spoken here, who'd joined the chant—so where was she? And what the ever-loving _fuck_ did she just throw Momo into?

She barely even noticed that one of her shoes was missing, her gaze slowly rising from the bodies gathered around the area. Her attention was solely on the huge mass standing at the centre of it all, towering over the bodies with ease. It couldn't be human, but there was no other way to classify the hulking thing. Clad in old, red armour—foreign-looking enough for Momo to actually do a double take at the figure—and looking down at their work with shaking, bloodied hands.

Momo took a step backwards, hoping to make a silent escape before she was noticed. Maybe they already thought she was dead and didn't bother to check. Maybe she still had a chance to get the hell out and pretend like this night never happened.

But the sharp pain that dug into her bare foot and the softest sound of glass snapping in half brought her heart to a stop. Her breath held painfully in her chest, Momo could only watch as the hulking figure reared its head back up and stared at her over their shoulder. A pair of stark white eyes locked onto her before its entire weight shifted, and then Momo was given just seconds to run away. The armour-clad giant barrelled toward her at a speed she was sure would catch up with her in no time, but Momo still persevered. Glass in her foot be damned, Momo broke into a sprint towards the nearest drop in the construction site's layout and flung herself down the dirt slope.

She tumbled and crashed to the bottom, the giant's footsteps still thundering above her. As soon as Momo was back on her feet she kept on running. There had to be a way out, and once she found it she'd be able to recognise where she was in Fuyuki. She barely spared the monster a glance as she forced her feet to keep moving despite the pain. Her shoulder burned still, her head pounding more and more—this _wasn't_ how she wanted to go out, damn it! There was still so much she wanted to do and things she wanted to say to Pan-Oba. Things she wished she'd said sooner to the bitch that left her behind to die.

Rage flared in Momo's gut. Screw it all. She was going to get away from this thing, no matter what.

She dared a glance back at it once she caught sight of the chain-link fence that surrounded the site. Momo expected the giant to be close behind her, but the fact that it leapt high above her, across beams with almost superhuman precision, made her falter in her sprint somewhat. Momo stumbled out of the site with a squeak, and then it was only a matter of navigating the streets and outsmarting this thing.

Her luck really was abysmal tonight, though.

There must've been a mistake made along the way, a wrong turn that left her disoriented. Momo could've sworn she'd lost the armoured giant, collapsing in an alleyway with heavy, dry wheezes; she'd been granted maybe five minutes of peace, a small window of opportunity to gather her bearings, before the ground behind her rumbled as something landed with a heavy thud. One thunderous footstep. Two. Momo's entire body trembled as she slowly turned around to face him.

She wouldn't admit to anyone, even herself, that the words she uttered in what she believed to be her final moments were a soft cry for her mother. Another movement towards her, agonisingly slow, but it was more than enough to make Momo flinch away and squeeze her eyes shut. Death would be quick at the hands of something as gargantuan as this beast. At least she had that comfort.

The killing blow never came. Momo waited and waited, fully expecting to be erased from this existence by a simple punch from the armoured giant; but there was barely a sound coming from him. It was harder to open her eyes than it had been before—fear was much more powerful than pain, she realised—but once she overcame the terror gripping at her heart she found herself locking gazes with her pursuer. She could actually look at him now, take in his details: His red hair, the way his hands were utterly relaxed by his sides, even the intricate details of his armour. If she focused hard enough on the chest place he wore, she could make out some kind of animal face. Like one of those lion dogs she'd seen propped outside the house of someone she'd robbed a few months back.

Compared to his earlier stance, he looked almost at ease in front of Momo. Calmed, even. Momo wouldn't deny that she felt the same now, finally able to see him without the fear of death lingering in her mind. He just watched her, jaw working as though he were figuring out what to say, while Momo slowly steadied her breathing.

"M—" He choked on his own voice. It was a low rumble, almost like a growl that he was forcing to form words. "Ma—"

Maybe he was trying to say her name, she thought? Maybe the attack on her hadn't involved him, and instead he'd come to save her? Maybe Momo misread the situation?

"Momo," she supplied, hoping he would understand her. The giant cocked his head to the side.

"Mo..." he growled. "M—Mo..."

Maybe her luck wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

* * *

 **Takuya Okami**

He heard the giggle of his Servant almost as soon as the summoning had finished. Light and carefree, almost like a middle schooler's. Takuya wondered just who he had managed to summon, hardly expecting such youthful and excited sounds, and shifted on his feet with a small smile.

"I have responded to your summons," his Servant announced. "I am a Rider-class Servant, Queen Me—"

She stopped abruptly. Takuya raised his brows , surprised, as he waited for her to go on. Chiaki cleared her throat behind him softly; she too sounded confused by the sudden pause.

"Hey," Rider slowly. Her chirpy tone was gone, replaced by one of mild annoyance. Ah. She must not have been happy with what she'd been summoned to. "What's with the sash on your face? Don't you want to see what kind of perfect Servant you summoned?" Heels clicked against the hardwood floor. "Oh! Are you afraid you'll be enchanted by the sight of me?"

Takuya huffed out a small laugh. Even as Rider moved closer and closer, most likely aiming to remove the sash over his eyes, he remained still and smiled. "I wouldn't say that's an issue," Takuya joked.

"Okami-sama," Chiaki said softly. "It might be best to sit down for a while."

Yes, sitting sounded nice. Takuya hummed in agreement, turning on his heel and letting his cane feel around him for the nearest chair. If he remembered correctly, it should've been maybe two paces to the right...? The cane knocked the leg of the chair, and Takuya let out a pleased, "Ah. There."

He hadn't realised how much the summoning would drain him until he settled into the chair. Chiaki hovered behind him, the sound of porcelain in her hands, while Rider let out a rather audible huff.

"This is one of those modern jokes, right?" Rider whined. Her heels clicked over to Takuya's other side, and then all of a sudden she was on his lap and planting her hands on either side of his head. Takuya would've choked on his tea, had it been served and ready for him. "You're probably just wearing this as a strange training exercise. Right?"

Rider was lithe, small. Definitely not the kind of heroic spirit he'd expected someone of the Rider class to be, which meant he'd have to be extra careful to make sure she wasn't overwhelmed.

Her thumb hooked under the sash, and Takuya was quick to laugh nervously and reach for Rider's hands. "I assure you," he said, "there's no need to check."

Rider didn't listen. Takuya did his best to make sure his eyes were clamped shut as the sash was pulled away with a harsh yank. Chiaki was loudly protesting Rider's actions, but didn't make much of a movement to stop her when Takuya held up a hand to keep the woman at bay. He would handle this—it wouldn't take long for Rider to be satisfied by the truth, after all. She was just going to have to accept that Takuya would not be "enchanted" by the sight of her.

"Open up those eyes, Master," Rider cooed.

"They're closed?" Takuya joked. He could hear Chiaki groan, exasperated, before resuming pouring his tea.

Fingers clawed at his eyelid, and Takuya sucked in a deep breath. Rider wasn't planning on relenting until she knew for certain he wasn't lying, wasn't she? So Takuya gave in and opened one of his eyes, ignoring the soft plea from Chiaki behind him. It would only be once, he told himself. Rider wouldn't pry too much unless he let her, he told himself. _It was just this once_.

First Rider let out a gasp. Seconds of silence passed, her hands slowly moving off his face. Then there was the flat, indecipherable, "I see." Rider removed herself from his lap, taking her time as she did so, and then Takuya found the sash pressed into his hands as Rider's heels clicked over to the other side of the table.

"Satisfied?" Takuya asked, and he meant no disdain with the question. It was natural for people to be curious—Servants tended to want to know about their Masters sometimes, right?

"For now." Rider let out a loud sigh. Was she bored? "Whatever, though."

"Okami-sama," Chiaki said. "Your tea."

Right. The tea. Takuya reached out and carefully lifted the cup from its saucer. Before he took a sip, he smiled in the direction he assumed Rider was in and asked, "Would you care for some, Rider? I believe it's oolong."

A giggle. It was much like the first one she let out upon being summoned. "Very well, Master. But afterwards," she added, a playful lilt to her tone, "we're going to have a serious discussion about what you plan to do with me."

This was going to be a regular kind of conversation they'd have. There was no point in thinking otherwise, Takuya figured. He wondered if Chiaki would survive the constant double entendres. He smiled into his cup. _Probably not_ , he thought.

"Of course. It just wouldn't be the same if we didn't give it our all, right?"

Rider did not immediately reply. Takuya lowered his cup, surprised, and added, "Rider?"

"Ah. I was winking just now." She let out a small growl. Takuya couldn't help chuckling to himself over the reaction. She really wasn't used to charming the blind, it seemed. "You, there. Woman."

Chiaki's groan was all too familiar, Takuya being on the receiving end of it with every joke and playful remark he'd made at her. "Yes, Rider?"

"Under no circumstances are you to take my Master from me," Rider declared. "I refuse to let a handsome man escape my grasp again, even for the most foolish of reasons."

* * *

 **Matsuo Ueda**

The marks were still there.

It hadn't been long since they'd appeared, though truth be told Matsuo had believed they were a dream. Holding his brother in his arms, promising to take over whatever responsibilities Shiro had held, was most definitely not a dream. But Matsuo had been hoping the burning sensation on his shoulder had just been stress, that the markings he'd seen after so, _so_ many hours filing the right paperwork regarding Shiro's death were just a figment of his exhausted imagination.

Clearly, Matsuo had been too optimistic.

The past few days had been a bit of a blur for Matsuo, but three things were very apparent: The first was that his twin brother, who he had not seen in years since their father had reconnected with them, died in his arms in the alleyway he'd found him in. Despite the sparse conversations (if they even could be called such) and the days Matsuo slowly got used to not seeing Shiro, he felt utterly broken seeing the brother he'd shared so many things with simply fade away right in front of him. As cliché as it sounded, Matsuo felt like part of him had died along with Shiro days ago.

The second thing he was certain of was that whatever had happened to Shiro, his father—and, by proxy, the magic he'd left Matsuo and their mother for—had something to do with it. Sure, he'd come across cases that seemed bizarre and produced more mysteries than they did answers. Plenty of people turned up dead in alleys prior to Shiro. But Matsuo _knew_ what Shiro was involved in. Sort of. The details were never clear, for obvious reasons, but he knew there was bound to be a mage—or maybe even multiple mages—attached to his brother's death. His mother tried to keep them from the Katayama family for a reason, Matsuo told himself after washing Shiro's blood from his hands at the station. This was most likely it.

The third thing Matsuo was aware of, and what scared him most following Shiro's death, was the constant feeling of being watched. In his car, in his office, in his own home—eyes he could not see were on him, and they never left him for a second. Even now, as he shrugged on his best jacket and slicked back his hair with gel, Matsuo felt like he'd been put on a stage for someone's amusement. The endless paranoia and glances over his shoulder were beginning to manifest in his sleep, as well; images of a man in a mask silently stalking his prey, waiting.

The drive to the church left him feeling numb, for the most part. Matsuo may as well have been carrying with him a clear indicator as to why Shiro died, and there was no one he could tell about it without dragging them and himself into the world of mages.

Well, there was _one_ person.

Saizou Katayama was probably going to be attending the funeral. Shiro was his own son, after all, and he'd taken him in to train him. If there was anyone Matsuo truly could confide in with this mystery, it was Saizou. It was just a matter of finding and asking.

Fuyuki Church was a bit of an enigma to Matsuo. He pulled up along the road leading to the large building, eyes glued to the cross mounted atop the church's only spire. He'd heard that ten years ago there had been an incident—an attack of sorts on the priest who tended to the place. There weren't many details, but according to the priest who took over he'd simply retired and left to spend more time with his family. No desire to investigate, no charges to be pressed. It was like they'd pretended the event had never happened.

Matsuo wasn't going to dwell on it today. He had more important things to worry about than the odd happenings within the church and its history. Matsuo locked his car behind him. He fixed his collar, making certain it was all flat, and let out a deep breath. He could really use a smoke right now.

The funeral wasn't big by any means, but there were definitely people he didn't recognise that must've come for Shiro's sake. Matsuo stayed dutifully beside his mother, rubbing Aiko's shoulder gently as she sobbed into her handkerchief. _I'm here_ , his gesture said. As the priest continued his sermon and detailed the accomplishments of Shiro's life, Matsuo and Aiko simply sat in their own little bubble. No matter how much Matsuo focused on his mother, though, he still felt eyes on him.

It felt like an eternity before Shiro was cremated. Matsuo held his breath while the coffin was lowered, and he didn't let it go until he was out the doors of the church and back in society. At least outside he wouldn't be frantically searching for someone watching him from the pews. At least outside he wouldn't feel as caged in. He felt as though something were crawling under the skin of his shoulder, demanding to be let out.

True to his expectations, Matsuo found his father talking with the priest once he walked back into the church. Most of the attendees were leaving, Aiko included, which left him both anxious and confident about voicing his concerns. He'd never really spoken with the man in private before, let alone about something so secretive, and he hadn't expected the first actual conversation he'd have with Saizou to revolve around his own brother's death.

"I'm very sorry about what happened," the priest muttered to Saizou. Saizou simply shook his head, and Matsuo could only grind his teeth together. Didn't Saizou feel bad for the loss of his son?

"It's to be expected. Not everyone is going to survive once it starts."

The priest glanced over Saizou's shoulder—and then he did a double take at the sight of Matsuo. He looked back to Saizou, almost as though begging him to be quiet; it only made Matsuo's curiosity and disappointment grow.

There was no kindness in his voice as he called to his father's back, "Why is my brother dead, Saizou?"

If the mage was surprised, he didn't show it. His posture remained relaxed and his expression barely betrayed his emotions as he looked over his shoulder at Matsuo. For the first time in eight years, Matsuo was face-to-face with his estranged father. Considering the topic at hand, it was... nostalgic, almost.

And as Saizou dismissed the priest, turning to address Matsuo with his full attention, Matsuo finally felt the eyes on him vanish.

* * *

 **Evangeline Ellesmere**

 _The brick walls of the tower were cold and rough. She ran her hand along them as she paced the room, making sure not to cut her finger open on an edge that was particularly sharp. How long had she been in here? Who knew. Had she seen anyone wander past recently? She'd remember something like that, she thought with a sigh._

 _To be locked away in a tower, awaiting her fated knight to rescue her—it was a dream come true._

 _Evangeline settled herself at the only window of the tower, leaning forward against her arms and resting her chin atop them. Long blond tresses flew with the breeze that brushed past. The wide sleeves of her gown fluttered alongside her hair, and all Evangeline could do was continue to sigh dreamily out into the landscape. For the dreariness that was her prison, outside was a sight to behold. The dragon—or was it a witch that held her this time?—had left her with enough beauty to keep her hopes up: The shimmering crystal lake to the east, the emerald heights of the forest to the west. The skies were always blue, the clouds always telling stories she'd once read about. It was, despite the context, paradise._

 _"Evangeline..."_

 _Her gaze moved from the lake to the forest, and then finally to the dirt path that led straight to the tower. Any day now her knight would come galloping down that path, sword at the ready and endless amounts of chivalry to his name. What would he look like, she wondered? He would have to be tall, taller than her at the very least. A handsome face was a must, though not so aged and mature that Evangeline could only see him as a father figure rather than a friend. Not too scarred, but not so untouched that everyone would underestimate him._

 _Perfectly a knight. Perfectly_ perfect.

 _And his horse! He would be only the noblest of knights, able to tame the unicorns so many struggle to even get close to. A unicorn the colour of snow, with a golden saddle adorning its coat. It would charge with its knight in tow, protecting him with the magic from its horn, and no evil would be able to overcome them._

 _She hadn't noticed the thundering sounds at first, too distracted by the fantasy. But Evangeline recognised the sound immediately after she paid attention again—a horse galloping down the path, most likely about to emerge from the forest. Her knight, she thought with joy in her heart!_

 _Evangeline jumped up to her feet with a grin. It was finally happening! She was finally going to meet her knight! No more waiting, no more dreaming for the day to come!_

 _What if he was a prince? Evangeline had to stop herself from prancing around the small room with a squeal. How amazing would it be if he was a prince?!_

 _"Evangeline..."_

 _Closer and closer. The horse even let out a whinny that echoed through the branches. Evangeline hurriedly fixed her hair, making sure not a strand was out of place, before moving on to check her reflection in her mirror._

 _Something wet brushed her cheek, and Evangeline let out a squeak. Her hand flew to her face, practically smacking herself with the sheer force of it—_

This wasn't the tower. She blinked, still trying to regain her bearings as the sounds of the city filled her ears. This was definitely not a brick tower. This was definitely not a landscape of crystals and emeralds.

" _Duchesse_ , I have returned."

Evangeline looked down at her lap, still bleary from sleep, and was pleasantly surprised to find a small Bengal cat standing upright on her knees. Evangeline blinked once at it—at the small newborn slippers it wore and the hunk of metal tucked under its paws, tightly to its chest—before finally she recognised the feline.

"You're back, Puss," she said, tone welcoming. The cat—well, not _quite_ a cat, but he sure as heck looked like one to her—nodded his head once and hobbled off of her lap. Evangeline stretched her arms out wide, the back of the bench helping to crack her spine and properly wake her up. "Did you lick my face?"

" _Oui, Duchesse_. Your sleep was very deep."

"Sorry..."

Puss merely shook his head. For a demon he was a very polite, caring creature. Maybe it was because Evangeline had modelled him after the fable, taking a few liberties with how he appeared along the way. He waddled further away, giving Evangeline space to stand up and walk around. The small, pink baby booties had Evangeline gushing after him for a moment, but the whole reason she'd summoned him in the first place soon became apparent to her once he set down the hunk of metal.

"You got it!" she cheered. Puss bowed (well, lowered himself to all-fours to mimic a bow) before licking at one of his paws. From where they were situated, almost all of Fuyuki was visible to them. The lights of buildings, the stars in the sky; all a perfect sight from Evangeline's place by the tower viewers mounted behind the railing. "It wasn't too much trouble, was it?"

" _Non_ , _Duchesse_. The familiars tried to attack me. _Le Maître chat_ shall not be taken down so easily, however."

Another bow. Evangeline gushed over the feline some more.

"You're the best, Puss," she cooed. "Getting the relic for me and fighting all those familiars—you're a dream come true!"

Puss laughed. He probably saw the irony in the words, though Evangeline failed to even as she asked what was funny. Puss rolled onto his side, forgoing his upright position, and began to paw at his tiny shoes with lazy movements.

"The magus I took it from said some interesting things, _Duchesse_ ," Puss went on. "It is apparently the hilt of an ancient sword, found in a cavern in Central Asia. They were so sure it would summon the Saber class, _Duchesse_!" One little bootie slipped off, the other close behind. "That is the most powerful class, no?"

She gasped, jaw dropping as though it had broken. A Saber! How lucky had she gotten tonight, sending Puss to take the relic from the nearest magus? Evangeline could hardly hide her excitement as she scooped Puss up into her arms and twirled around in circles.

Even without an invitation to formally join the Grail War, Evangeline still had a chance to give it a shot! She had a chance to summon the Grail and make her wish, to finally meet her knightly prince in person at long last. And if her Servant happened to be such a knightly prince...

Puss soon vanished, no longer needed in this realm, and Evangeline was quick to prepare the summoning ritual. Before she completely devoted herself to it, though, she pinched herself hard on the arm. The pain didn't cause her to suddenly awaken in another location, the hilt still in front of her and Puss's small slippers still neatly left beside her bag.

For once, it wasn't just a dream that had gotten away from her.

* * *

 **Bramwell Gascoigne**

Archer's constant smoking was going to give Bram a headache. He bounced his leg up and down as he sat on the front-most pew, doing his best not to say anything to the man that inhaled the smoke from his cigar like nothing was wrong with the scene. It was quiet—as expected at this time of night—and Father Iwata was still on the phone to one of the magi selected to be a Master.

"Did I seriously need to come?" Archer groaned. He blew out rings of smoke into the air, lounging beside Bram with little care to his expression. "It's boring. I'd rather be keeping an eye open outside for danger."

"Father Iwata said this was important for you, too," Bram simply sighed. He waved his hand about as some of the smoke wafted in his direction. He couldn't stand the smell of tar and tobacco that came with it. "Unless something better comes along, you're involved in this just as much as I am."

Archer clicked his tongue distastefully.

It didn't take much longer after the brief conversation for Father Iwata to return. He looked more stressed than usual, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a long, exhausted sigh. The middle-aged man sank onto the pew on Bram's other side, and it was only now that Bram noticed the bags under his eyes. Was Iwata _already_ stressed out by all this?

"Everything that could go wrong," Iwata whined, " _has_."

"Oh?" Archer rudely flicked the ash from his cigar down onto the pew. "How'd it top your expectations, pops?"

"I don't know _what_ I expected, Archer. It just wasn't a little girl with a Berserker that was clearly announced pre-summoning by the Sasaki family, nor was it a report of—" Iwata ran his hands over his face again. "Of a bipedal cat in baby shoes stealing a relic from the home of Suguro Hashimoto."

Archer and Bram seemed to have differing reactions to the strange news. While Bram opted to merely stare at Father Iwata, mouth agape, Archer doubled over and guffawed so loud that it echoed through the large room. Bram was starting to see why Iwata looked so stressed. This wasn't something you expected with every Grail War, after all.

"At least we're down to six for now," Bram muttered. He wasn't sure if he was looking for a positive amidst all this mayhem. If anything, he was probably just reminding Iwata that the Grail War would come to an end soon enough now that one Master had perished.

But Iwata shook his head. He stood back up and fixed his robes, heaving out one last sigh. "Assassin's previous Master passed on his command spells before he died. As of right now that makes five confirmed Masters, yourself included."

They were left with the news that only a Lancer and a Saber were left to be summoned, and the news didn't particularly bode well with Bram. Lancers and Sabers tended to be powerhouses in Grail Wars. It was usually by sheer luck if an Archer or any of the Cavalry classes could hold their own against a Lancer or Saber. Bram stroked his chin as Iwata bade them farewell. He knew Archer had already dematerialised before they'd even gone out the doors, switching to his spiritual form without so much as a word to Bram; that was how the relationship seemed to be so far, Archer doing whatever he wanted without a peep towards his Master—and Bram, of course, simply let him be unless it was important. He reminded himself that he didn't need to worry as much as he was, that things weren't going to be as dire as Father Iwata made them out to be.

He couldn't help the small huff of laughter that escaped him as he left the church grounds. Bram buttoned up his coat, the cold nipping at his skin, as he muttered, "A bipedal cat in baby shoes."

 _It is an interesting era I have been summoned to_ , Archer mused. Bram was sure he'd left to scout the area ahead of them, though there was the suspicion that Archer simply wanted to have some alone time at the highest vantage points in the city. _A cat walking around in little shoes... Reminds me of the Cat S_ _ì_ _ths back home._

 _It could've been a familiar,_ Bram informed Archer. He received a mental hum of affirmation in return. _We may have to keep an eye open for it, just in case it brought the relic to its master._

 _Obviously. If they summon the Saber then we're better off observing from afar, too._

Bram coughed into his hand, stifling another chuckle. _You just wanna avoid fighting_.

 _Sue me,_ Archer growled.

The two didn't speak much afterwards. Archer kept to himself, perched Lord knew where in Fuyuki, while Bram strolled through the somewhat active streets with his hands in his pockets. Different restaurants were opening, small businesses were closing; the various smells and sounds of activity made Bram wonder what he was going to do with his own dinner, more so what he would even have in the first place. He wouldn't deny the sounds his stomach was making right now—he just didn't know what to quell his hunger with tonight.

Bram peeked through the windows of different restaurants as he passed them, until his purposeful walk turned into a slow dawdle. There were quite a few things he wouldn't mind trying. There were also a few things he'd had before that he wouldn't mind having again. Anything sounded good right now.

He paused at one sign, reading it aloud to himself. "' _Free mochi ice cream with each serving of_ —' Whoa. Bargain."

 _Master._

Bram startled. He tripped over his own feet in an attempt to see who had called for him, but Archer's snickering soon reminded him just who would use such a term towards Bram.

 _What's up, Archer?_ He ran a hand through his hair and continued on his walk. _Anything I should be careful with?_

 _No, no. Your constant thoughts of food are making me hungry, so I thought I'd subtly let you know that the supermarket two blocks to your east is having a sale on some of the stuff you used for lunch yesterday._

Bram rolled his eyes. _Right. Subtle._

A few seconds of silence passed them by, until finally Archer grew impatient and pressed on, _Well?_

 _Fine, I'll make us the mac and cheese again_ , he relented. Bram pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and began to sift through the bills inside. Archer seemed to love mac and cheese, and if he bought enough to make leftovers he'd probably be able to save money on food tomorrow. He headed east, towards the supermarket Archer described to him, and was met with blissful silence as he sifted through the prices of each item on each shelf.

* * *

 **Casval Faust**

Alright, it was about time to perform the summoning.

He'd been preparing the whole day to go through with it, finishing up small pieces of research to the best of his ability as he did so. There needed to be adequate space in the room—both for the Servant he was to summon and the summoning circle he'd drawn out on the floor—and Casval was more than content with the amount he'd sectioned off for the task. He took his place before the summoning circle, steadying himself with a deep inhale, and held out his hand as he began.

"The Four Prime Factors, the Five Prime Elements, the Six True Magics." He could sense the slightest change in atmosphere—the Grail detected his attempt to summon a Servant. "Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken. From the factors that make the universe, Gravity gives way to Space, Space gives way to Time, Time gives way to Heat, and from all Four in union of the universe is created.

"Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken." Casval could feel the air shifting around him as the summoning circle began to glow. A deep, dark purple colour filled his study, loose sheets of paper threatening to flutter away. "From the Five Prime Elements, from Fire all life is born into the universe and to Fire it returns. From the Water we are given life and to the Water our lives are sent back. From the Earth our bodies are shaped and moulded and to the Earth our bodies are given back. From Air we are given our first breaths and to the Air we give our last gasps. From the Ether our magic is gifted upon us, and to the Void our magic returns when we perish.

"Rest, Awaken, Rest, Awaken," he went on. "With all these ingredients and all these powers surely the path to enlightenment may be reached, and thus we can reach the Gods and control the Six True Magics."

His vision was overcome by the glow. Casval shielded his eyes with his free hand as the burn of command spells were etched onto his outstretched one. The paperwork on his desk finally lost its position, and soon Casval was bombarded by sheets of loose paper that swirled around the room and battered his face. He could just barely make out the form of his Servant—the glow of a red weapon—before he found himself stumbling back out of harm's way.

She must've been a Lancer, he thought as he rolled along the floor in an attempt to avoid her spear. It scraped against the hardwood floor, leaving a long scar in its wake.

Casval vaulted over his desk, grabbing for his lab coat and holding it like a matador would a cape. Lancer looked him up and down once, striking red eyes sizing him up; beats of silence passed them by as the air around them settled. Casval never broke eye contact with Lancer as the two stood their grounds.

She lunged again, and this time he was ready for her. Casval reinforced his lab coat, forcing the spear to slide along its surface as he charged forward. He needed to push for an opening, force Lancer to move back even by a step. She let out a hum—thoughtful, interested—as she allowed him to create the opening. Casval darted past her, his objective turning to the corpse that had yet to be dissected across the room; he could feel her looming over him from behind, readying for an attack that would surely kill him if he wasn't quick enough.

He looked over his shoulder just in time to see her rear her arm back, spear balanced lightly in her palm. Casval readied the coat again. He crashed onto the operating table with his lower back—the spark of pain was a terrible distraction—as the spear was launched at full speed towards him. The force of the impact against his coat was enough to tear it apart, and Casval just barely managed to duck his head before the spear whizzed past and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

Lancer wasn't done yet, though. Seemingly out of nowhere she produced a second spear—crimson, like her eyes and other weapon—and darted for Casval. With nothing to shield himself on-hand, he was a sitting duck.

Casval rolled over the operating table, grasping tightly onto the corpse's shoulders as he tumbled to the floor on the other side, and for a moment all he could see was a pair of glowing red eyes. Lancer landed atop the corpse, spear pierced clean through the torso and mere millimetres away from Casval's own. She only needed to push a little further, to wear out the limited physical strength Casval had, and he'd be bleeding out on the floor of his study.

His arms began to ache with the weight of both Lancer and the corpse in his grasp. Lancer blinked at him once, gave him a knowing smile, and said, "I see."

And then half of the weight was gone. The spear was pulled from the corpse, and Casval was free to drop it with an exhausted exhale. If he hadn't just summoned Lancer he'd be fine, but with the added fatigue from the ritual Casval only felt run-down and ready to call it a day.

"What is your name, magus?" Lancer demanded. Her spear faded away, and Casval had no doubt the one in his wall had done the same.

"Casval..." he panted. "Casval Faust..."

"Casval Faust," Lancer said. She stared down at him with a blank expression. "I have been called to your side from the Land of Shadows by the Grail as a Lancer-class Servant. My True Name is Scáthach."

She reached out a hand towards him. It was both a peace offering and help, though her expression didn't change much with the gesture. "I have decided you are worthy of being my Master, Casval Faust. Do not make me regret such a conclusion."

He weighed his options, his responses, for a few seconds. Lancer must have been testing him with her attacks, though he wasn't sure just what for right now. Was she interested in a strong Master? Was she the kind of Servant who did not like being summoned without a good reason other than the Grail War? Casval looked back up at Lancer's face once before finally he took her hand. Lancer pulled him to his feet with little effort, and he soon discovered just how much taller than her he was. At least now he knew she was strong despite her size.

"Your reluctance to use a command spell to stop me is admirable, but a foolish decision," Lancer went on. "Had you not been in this particular room, you may not have been as lucky."

He turned his attention down to his hand, where three seals were scrawled onto his skin in red. Casval could immediately recognise two of the shapes the seals formed—an Ouroboros, which sat at the top of the seals, and a pair of wings just beneath it. He couldn't help admiring the design, though he did not ignore Lancer's question as he did so.

"Command spells are precious," Casval said, though he may as well have been stating the obvious. "I would much rather save them for a more opportune moment than this. Besides," he added, this time casting a glance down at the corpse by their feet, "I had to open him up sooner or later."


	3. 02

**Blech... Sorry for the wait, guys. I put a notice on my profile for why chapter two took so long, but basically health reasons and work are gonna make this a little slow. Hopefully though I can keep pushing forward because I'm super excited to see what you think of where I take VaM!**

 **But yeah, thanks for the patience so far. Y'all are amazing.**

* * *

 **02**

 **Day One: Morning**

 **Momoko**

"Servant, huh..."

It hadn't been all that long since the term was provided to her, the identity of her pet behemoth _somewhat_ given out. All she really knew were the surface-level details—this guy was to be called Berserker, as it was his "class" in this Holy Grail War Momo had been dragged into. The priest she'd spoken to last night had told her that the giant man's actual name probably wouldn't come up, even if she'd asked nicely. So Momo had just resigned herself to calling him Berserker; it fit his violent introduction to her life, at least.

Overall it left Momo in two minds. On one hand, she was pissed; her mother had abandoned her, denied her existence to her face, and suddenly she was dragging Momo into a war of super powered ghosts and mages? On the other hand... The offer of the Grail granting her wishes, no matter how outlandish, was too good to pass up. There were a lot of things Momo would like in life, some material and others sentimental. And besides, how could she turn down the thrill of a lifetime? A giant magical death battle with super powered ghosts? _Ultimate_ thrills were bound to be coming her way.

Momo stretched her arms high above her head and yawned. There was still a lot more to it all than just "super fun magic death battle with magic wishes", but it was the most pleasing way she could put it.

Despite his moniker of Berserker, the giant man barely made much of a ruckus over the past few hours. Momo had been granted absolute peace and quiet as he'd crouched down next to her bed, eyes trained on her bedroom door, and even now as she got dressed he waited patiently in the tiny kitchen. Momo heaved a loud sigh as she cast a final look down at her command spells. They were going to take a while to get used to, especially since they were on her shoulder. At least, she thought with a shred of optimism, they weren't on her hand like most cases had them appear. The priest had said it would make her more difficult to pick out of a crowd—if the other Masters wanted to find her, that was. Apparently taking down a Servant was difficult in most cases, which left only the option of targeting the person keeping them tethered to the land of the living.

Momo scowled at the fact that the only break she'd caught was not being in a weird occult blood sacrifice. Not that the compromise she'd been dealt was much of a break to begin with.

She was more or less dressed for the day, nodding contently at the cropped black hoodie and tattered dark jeans she'd chosen to wear. Momo rummaged around the pile of clothes on her bed for a few seconds then, searching for something to finish off the ensemble; the best she could find was a baseball cap. Considering she had to try avoid letting other Masters notice her presence, the hat seemed like a pretty obvious choice. She pulled her blue hair back into a short ponytail and then threaded it through the back of the cap.

Very practical, she thought with a nod. Nothing would take her by surprise today, and no one would notice her in the slightest thanks to the sheer inconspicuousness of the ensemble.

She bounced into the small kitchen and beamed up at Berserker. "Ready for anything!" she cheered, clenching her fists as though emphasising her determination. Berserker looked down at her blankly, a small growl sounding from the back of his throat. "No one's gonna get the jump on us. We're gonna win that Grail, for sure!"

A louder growl this time, and he rose to his full height—or, rather, the most he could muster in a small home that wasn't built to accommodate anyone over seven feet tall. Berserker's head bent down to keep from going through the roof, and the snarl on his face showed just how annoyed he was at the lack of room he had.

Momo hummed to herself. She'd been given an abridged crash course last night regarding each type of Servant, and there were a few concerns regarding Berserker the priest had mentioned. For one thing, Berserkers tended to be targeted more by allied Masters and Servants—they were the basically the Caesars of the Grail War, Momo decided upon hearing that. On top of that, though, they weren't just Berserkers in name. Most Servants listened to their Masters and followed orders, but Berserkers were a different case. The priest had called it the Mad Enhancement: A "skill" of sorts that Berserkers were recognised by. It made them stronger, sure, but it also made them more uncontrollable.

And there was where Momo's first—and probably only—issue laid. She'd seen what Berserker was capable of (well, the aftermath of it) and she knew just how dedicated he was to something once he set his mind to it. Outrunning him had been a bitch of a task, and she still hadn't gotten away entirely. Momo lifted a hand up to her shoulder, pressing against the skin as her fingers dug into the hoodie.

Three command spells. The priest had the ability to grant more, though only in special circumstances. But Momo was, for all intents and purposes, limited to just _three_. Three chances to make certain that Berserker didn't go... Well... Berserk.

But would they work? Momo squinted up at Berserker as he began to move around, trying to find more space to stand as he slowly began to show irritation on his face. It wasn't like she was going to go out _looking_ for other Masters to fight, and Berserker already proved that he'd attack anyone who posed a threat to her. Momo smirked; _one_ little command couldn't hurt. One had to be sure they worked, after all.

"Berserker!" she announced. He paused, looking back down at her with a now blank expression. "We need to get some breakfast."

Berserker, to her surprise, managed to navigate his way out of the dingy home without breaking anything. Momo was almost impressed by his patience, certain he would've headbutted at least one door frame on his way out. But her home remained intact and Berserker eagerly awaited her presence outside.

Eager to see where this would go, Momo began to climb up Berserker's arm and settle herself atop his shoulders, using his helmet as a grip and grinning at the new height she was at. This was _very_ different from being a mere four-ten.

"Alright!" Momo shouted. Berserker tensed, almost anticipating her order. "By my command spell, or whatever—" Momo could feel her shoulder become warm, a soft glow trying to break through her hoodie. "—take me to the best convenience store in Fuyuki!"

Before she could even ask what he was doing, Berserker shot a hand behind him and lifted it to hold Momo in place. Barely a second passed before he moved to see her command through, and Momo could hear the ground behind them crack and break as Berserker launched the two of them into the air. They were soaring, jumping from home to home and leaving a trail of roof tiles and small pieces of debris in their wake. Momo wasn't sure where they were going, certain that her favourite convenience store was in the opposite direction Berserker was taking them, but once the first few signs of the modern side of Fuyuki entered her view she began to pick up on one of the potential places he was taking her.

Berserker, to her amazement, landed with a loud grunt in front of a small twenty-four hour convenience store. Momo never would've pegged it as the _best_ in Fuyuki, but here they were. Berserker lifted her off of his shoulders and set her down on the ground. He was, for the most part, back to his patient self.

Well. Now Momo knew the command spells would work.

Passerby stared at them as the seconds ticked by. Momo made quick work of leading Berserker to a nearby bench, telling him—not ordering, she had to remind herself—to wait for her to come back out. People just continued to stare and stare, and soon enough they openly avoided going near Berserker's bench. Momo couldn't help the small huff she let out as she walked through the automatic doors of the store; people were being so rude to her Berserker.

(Not that she could complain overall about being left alone. People were exhausting and annoying to deal with, after all.)

Despite promising to be out as soon as possible, Momo took her time in the store. With a large supply of pudding cups in her basket, all of varying flavours, Momo lingered in the manga section and scanned the covers with a scrutinous gaze. She liked looking at the pictures at times (reading was a whole other can of worms for her) and no one ever really tried to stop her from flipping through them. Despite the sign declaring that you weren't allowed to read without buying them, no one ever seemed to want to enforce the rule. She flipped through a few pages of one manga, then moved to another; soon enough Momo had gone through half of the titles, able to piece together at least _some_ of what was happening in them. Power of friendship plots and whatever, all the really cliché stuff. A true staple of the shounen genre.

She set down the last of the manga and turned on her heel. Momo would've gone straight to the counter, to pay for her and Berserker's pudding cups, if she had not crashed into someone walking down the aisle at the very same moment. Momo stumbled backwards, shaking her head with a scowl.

"Ah, sorry!" the person, very male-sounding, apologised. Momo looked at his basket first, ready to fuck with whatever he had inside, but stopped short once she saw just how fair the skin of his hand was. Momo blinked, surprised; she slowly turned her gaze up to his face.

A foreigner, she thought once she looked at him properly. That was something you didn't see every day.

"Watch where you're going," Momo grumbled, immediately averting her gaze. She had a hard time around the locals—who knew how much trouble a foreigner could be. God, people were difficult.

He nodded, messy black hair bobbing up and down with the movement. He stepped as close to the manga as he could, letting Momo pass, before he finally continued further towards the newspapers.

Once she reached the end of the aisle, Momo looked back over her shoulder at him. Save for his button-up and blue coat, the man was dressed mostly in black. Not uncommon if he were a businessman, but he wasn't really dressing the part for such a role either. Momo stared at him for a few seconds longer. Something felt off, like she had to be more wary of him than anyone else in the store. But why?

And then he reached out to grab a newspaper. His free hand was, just as the priest had told her, adorned with the red command spells that marked a Master. Momo's breath froze in her lungs, her whole body tensing as she hurried to the counter. Maybe he hadn't noticed her watching, she thought. Maybe he didn't think much of her based on their interaction. Momo's command spells weren't visible, after all. He couldn't know she was a Master too.

As soon as her pudding cups were paid for, Momo sprinted out of the store and back to Berserker's side.

"Follow me," she wheezed, pulling him off the bench. Berserker let out a confused growl but followed nonetheless, allowing his small Master to lead him into an alley nearby.

She didn't see the man walk by while they ate their puddings in the shadows. Momo watched each and every person who walked by like a hawk, but there was no sign of him. Zilch. Nada. He'd most likely gone in the opposite direction.

"Shit," she hissed. She tossed her third empty pudding cup over her shoulder. It clattered along the ground near the other two.

" _Mo_..." Berserker growled. Momo patted one of his gargantuan hands without bothering to look at him.

"I know, I know." She handed him the plastic bag containing the rest of the puddings. "Can you take those back home and put them in the fridge for me?"

He stared down at her blankly.

"Come on... I already wasted one command spell to get us here..." Momo pouted up at him, finally meeting his gaze. If Berserker didn't have the constant expression of wanting to kill someone on his face, he'd almost come off as hesitant at Momo's request. "Please? I got shit to do and I don't want us to be spotted."

Berserker growled a little more forcefully. Momo, dead set in her decision, began to climb his arm again and planted both hands on either side of his face.

"We do this: You take the pudding cups home while I stake the guy out, and then you meet me at the park," she said slowly.

To her relief, Berserker granted her at least that much.

* * *

 **Katerina**

Phase one of her plan was well and truly complete. Katya couldn't help the small amount of pride that welled up in her stomach as she closed Otohiko Oshiro's bedroom door behind her. It wouldn't take long for someone to find him, she figured, but for now she was more than happy to revel in the secrecy she'd created.

 _Someone's happy_ , Caster teased lightly. Katya hummed to herself rather than reply to him. She was grateful that he hadn't tried to stop her, nor that he'd admonished her goal in any way. If anything, Caster was also pleased.

10AM on the dot, and Katya was back at her bedroom without a care in the world. She flopped onto the fold-out bed on her floor, heaving out a satisfied sigh. Katya could crash right there. Never mind all the blood on her clothes and hands. Never mind that she'd so clearly made a mess that trailed back to her room and her bed.

 _Happy is a nice word for it_ , Katya finally replied to Caster. She got a bemused chuckle in return; not even a second later he materialised above her head, arms crossed over his bare chest and a smug smile on his face.

"You're _sure_ your late husband was related to such a mediocre man?" he said. "To be taken down with such simple magecraft is laughable."

"He was old," Katya reasoned. She could remember the sessions she would go through with Otohiko, to prove herself a good wife for Hiroya. She hadn't done very well on anything other than self-defence and simple curses. But, Katya reminded herself, she was still young and finding herself when she and Hiroya married. "Otohiko made the mistake of assuming I'd lost all purpose outside of pleasing the Oshiros. He didn't think I'd actually retaliate for something his rotten daughter did."

"Perhaps we should find this rotten daughter next!" Caster began to pace the room, inspecting it. Judging from his reaction to Katya's apartment, he probably thought the old building was an improvement.

Katya shook her head. She didn't need to say why she didn't want to find Nanami. It was fairly obvious to the both of them, based on Katya's insistence that Nanami be saved for last, that Hiroya's repulsive little sister would find her first. Nanami had already objected to Katya being a Master on behalf of the Oshiro family—it was pretty easy to figure she'd want to punish Katya for killing Otohiko too. But who knew how long that would take? Nanami liked to take her time with things and be _perfect_ about it. Katya had possibly hours to fill.

She rolled off of the bed and climbed to her feet. "I need a shower," she sighed. Caster just grunted at her, too busy making himself comfortable in the rather empty room.

It was really happening. Not only was she a Master in the Holy Grail War, but now Katya was really, _finally_ able to get revenge for what the Oshiros did to her. For what they did to Hiroya and Penko, for how easily they'd been swept under the rug and Katya ejected from the family. She scrubbed at the blood on her hands, careful to scrape out any caught under her fingernails. Life would become so much easier without them in the picture, without her family breathing down her neck to make amends with them. It was her grandmother's fault she was pushed so vehemently onto the Oshiro family, why they hated her so much, so Katya figured the best way to relieve the pressure would be to remove it altogether. They couldn't tell her to make amends with the Oshiro family if there was no Oshiro family to speak of.

The shampoo and conditioner left in the bathroom for her were bland and plain, but at least it did the job in cleaning her hair. By the time she was out, towels wrapped around her head and midriff and glasses back on her face, a calm hour had passed.

Once she was done here, she had to come up with a plan for who to attack first. Well—not "attack", but rather defend from. Katya was by no means an expert at killing or targeting people, just barely able to defend herself thanks to years of fencing and self-defence training. She'd much rather wait out the War in the shadows, but there was always one Master who sought to eliminate the Caster first. The Knight Classes were always a bit of trouble, but she knew how dangerous it would be to leave the Berserker alone as well. Maybe she could ally with someone, she wondered. Out of seven people, there had to be someone with at least some kind of similar plan to Katya's.

She pushed through the bathroom door, ready to call for Caster's attention, but stopped short when she saw the small crowd huddled at the entrance of her room. Younger members of the family, definitely younger than Katya at least, all waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. Caster leaned nonchalantly against the wall to her right, inspecting his gloveless hand as though weeding out imperfections. Katya adjusted her glasses and heaved a sigh. They couldn't have waited until after she had clothes on?

"Can I help you?" Katya asked, though she directed it mostly to the ringleader of the group—one Nanami Oshiro.

Nanami glanced at Caster once, taking her time with her reply, before turning her attention back to Katya. "Give me Caster," she commanded.

A single brow raised at the order. "Excuse you?" Katya scoffed.

"Give me Caster and I won't tell the rest of the family you killed Father." Nanami took a step forward, her cousins and siblings left behind in the doorway. "You won't survive without my help."

There were a myriad of retorts Katya could've made at that. _I survived you sabotaging my car_ , was among the top three. Ironic, Katya thought, that the very brat who wanted her dead in the first place was offering her a lifeline.

A very poor lifeline, at that.

"Why would I need your help?" Katya asked slowly. She strolled over to Caster, keeping her eyes on the group while she reached out for her travel bag. Maybe they'd grant her some decency before they inevitably attacked.

"A fine question," Caster cut in, "but what's more important is, 'What could I gain from defecting'?"

"Ah." Katya nodded. "Another good one. What can you offer Caster?"

Nanami scoffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "More mana, for one. Not to mention I'm more capable than _you_ at taking the Grail."

Only twenty years old and already Nanami was full of herself. No, Katya reminded herself darkly; Nanami had always been full of herself. She was just being more open about it now that she was an adult.

"So give me Caster," Nanami went on.

"Counter offer," Katya said. Nanami gawked at her, taken aback by Katya's response. Why was she even surprised? Katya had basically tackled her to the ground and tried to strangle her the last time they were in a room together. It was a meeting neither was bound to forget any time soon. "You assume the role of family head. Otohiko's death is an 'accident' and I give you the Grail when I win it." She shrugged. "You get what you want. I get what I want."

Nanami's face slowly began to turn red. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her gaze burning into Katya as she took another step forward. "What I _want_ ," Nanami hissed, "is for you to remember your place and give me your damned Servant."

A grunt from Katya. She looked over at Caster. It was no surprise he had a sour expression on his face at her words.

"How unfortunate," Caster growled.

Pools of light surrounded the Otohiko children, leaving them stunned and scattering. Katya just stood in place and watched as Nanami whirled on her heel, preparing to defend her siblings as Caster's staves began to peek through the light. One by one they fell—a boy no older than thirteen consumed by a pillar of fire, a girl just a year younger than Nanami convulsing on the floor as electricity shot through her veins.

Katya pulled out a new set of clothes and began to dress herself as the group thinned in numbers. By the time she was shrugging on her jacket, ready to ward off the autumn chill outside, only Nanami and her younger brother, Daichi, remained. Though injured, Daichi was left to hold himself against the doorway as he tried to support Nanami further. Katya frowned at him. What a silly boy, helping such a rotten girl.

"Well," Katya sighed, casually slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Can't say I didn't expect this outcome. Daichi."

The young teen, a mere fourteen years old, snapped his head up at Katya's voice. He stared at her, waiting for her to go on with a hidden fear in his eyes.

"Since Nanami doesn't wish to be the next head, how would you like the title? I'm sure the Grail could bring back your family if that's what you want from it."

Daichi licked his lips. He looked to Nanami—who stood between them, standing at the ready for a fight—and then back to Katya. Before he answered he let his gaze linger on Caster for a moment. Unlike Nanami, Daichi was actually thinking about the offer before him.

Nanami realised this too. "Dai..." she warned.

"I'll take it," Daichi gasped. "I'll pardon your actions against the family and give you power in it as the former heir's wife again."

Katya raised her brows at him. It was more than she expected from Daichi. Maybe he really was smarter than Nanami.

While Nanami gaped at Daichi, rage becoming more and more apparent in her whole form, Katya raised a hand and waited patiently for Caster to respond to her silent command. With Nanami focused on Daichi so much, this would be as easy as taking down the proud Otohiko. She supposed arrogance really did run through this family.

The golden axe dropped into her palm, heavy and cold, and Nanami was quick to notice the change in atmosphere. Had she had the chance, she would've gotten a good few hits on Katya and ran. But Caster clicked his fingers, tome in hand, and suddenly the young woman was held in place by glowing runes.

Nanami Oshiro's beheading was a swift, simple affair.

* * *

 **Evangeline**

"Saber?" she mumbled groggily. Evangeline was still struggling with the tides of sleep, not quite fully aware of where she was or what time it was. Her dream had been so lovely, too. "You there?"

As she sat up, her Servant's cape slid down her form until it bunched up at her hips. Evangeline smiled softly as she rubbed her eyes. Saber was so nice, loaning her something to use as a blanket while she slept. It didn't take the man in question to materialise beside her, already kneeling to face her at an even height.

"Was your sleep peaceful, Master?" he asked softly. Evangeline nodded, smiling at him. Gosh, he really was a knight in shining armour—just like she'd hoped for!

Their surroundings were slowly coming back to her, the night before resurfacing in her mind. After summoning Saber Evangeline had been exhausted, and to her relief a nearby park had plenty of benches to rest on. Saber, as kind as he was patient, had dutifully offered to keep watch while she slept. Not even Puss had to come out and wake her up in the event of danger.

It was the most peaceful sleep she'd gotten in weeks.

She lifted her hand up to inspect the command spells on the back of them, still not quite sure what design they'd taken; Evangeline couldn't help the small smile on her face when she caught sight of what had to be a crumbling tower, though. "I like it," she muttered to herself.

It was nearing lunch, Saber reminded her once she snapped out of her stare, and Evangeline couldn't help the little squeak she let out as she hopped off the bench and held his cape out to him. He smiled, amused and affectionate. Not for the first time, Evangeline found herself gushing over just how truly knightly he was. Not only did he look the part, she told herself for the umpteenth time, but he also acted the part. She wondered what kind of gallant adventures she would see in her dreams.

With his cape back on, Saber dematerialised and left her to her own devices. Evangeline stretched and yawned. The late morning light was far from harsh, the soft breeze far from freezing. She may have been in need of a jacket over her usual frilly dress, but otherwise it looked to be another peaceful day for Evangeline Ellesmere. Not even the Holy Grail War and the looming threat of other Servants was going to ruin this for her.

She picked up the small bag that was tucked under the bench, shouldering it with a beam, before marching off towards the nearest exit in the park.

As Evangeline neared the gates of Miyama Town's quietest public getaway, she paused. She could feel Saber's presence behind her, but he seemed almost hesitant. Like he wanted to say something, but he didn't dare voice it. She could gush even more over it—he was so knightly he didn't dare question the one he served unless asked!

 _What's wrong?_ she asked him as she crossed the street. Most of the morning rush had passed, only the few midday shoppers on the road making her pause. She could hear Saber hum softly, consideration going into his words.

 _You appear unarmed, Master_ , Saber decided. _Are you relying on magecraft, should we run into another Master?_

Evangeline couldn't stop the flinch in time. She turned her gaze towards the pavement, moving closer to the edge of the sidewalk in the hopes of avoiding running into someone and getting yelled at. That'd be a terrible way to start off the morning. Then again, the memories of having to defend herself against her family flooding through her... Yeah, that didn't make for a good start either.

 _My demons will protect me_ , she replied after a time.

 _Demons?_

 _The ones I make with my Crest._ She passed a few high schoolers that were clearly skipping school, though she didn't see the point of the action while they were in their uniforms. Didn't that get them caught easier? _I don't really like fighting..._

Another hum, this time more contemplative. Soft. Evangeline arrived at another set of traffic lights, this time waiting to cross. She knew her destination now: A fast-food restaurant that did all day breakfast. It wasn't the healthiest lifestyle, but she'd overslept today. Plus she liked to believe she deserved to splurge after successfully stealing Saber's catalyst and summoning him without trouble.

The walk sign flashed, and Evangeline bounced across the street with newfound excitement. She wondered what Saber would think of hash browns and muffins. Did they have those back in Ye Olde Knightly Days?

Saber's presence drew closer, suddenly protective. Evangeline faltered at the change, but soon returned to her chipper self after a few seconds. He was reassuring her, she realised. Saber was doing his best to make her feel safe even with her apprehension towards fighting.

 _You needn't worry, Master_ , Saber told her. _My sword will fight on your behalf, and my body will serve as your shield_.

Evangeline let out a loud squee before she could stop herself. The couples and college students around her paused for a second, only to ignore her completely as they deemed her too irrelevant to warrant attention. That was how people were on the streets—they ignored individuals who weren't actively disturbing the peace. It helped Evangeline _a lot_ with staying under the radar to the Ellesmere family.

She scuttled into the store and waited in line patiently. There were no concerned looks when Evangeline ordered two of the same meal, and she walked back out as pleased as punch with Saber by her side.

 _Breakfast, Master?_ he asked. Evangeline nodded, revelling in the smell of bacon and eggs and hotcakes. It'd been a while since she'd treated herself like this.

 _For both of us!_

 _You're too kind_.

They continued on along their path, now heading in no particular direction. Evangeline studied the signs she passed as Saber stayed close by her. There was no rush. There was no urgency. Evangeline was free to do as she pleased.

It was _amazing_.

All Evangeline had to do was outwait everyone else. No one ever went after the Saber first, as far as she knew, and she was more than confident that Saber would be able to fend anyone off if they tried anything dangerous. Evangeline was, as far as she was concerned, safe.

When she and Saber stopped in a more isolated area, free of passerby for the most part, Saber materialised beside her and curiously peeked into the bag holding their breakfasts. Evangeline reached in and grabbed the first item she could find—a hash brown that was still warm and waiting to be eaten.

"Try this," she told Saber. He looked at it strangely. Seconds passed before he took it from her with a thank you, and she watched as his silver arm raised it to his mouth.

Saber was pleasantly surprised by the taste.

"All potato," Evangeline boasted. "Mashed up and deep fried for an on-the-go meal."

"It's very greasy," Saber noted around another bite.

Brunch—because honestly, it was too late to call it breakfast and too early to call it lunch—went on relatively peacefully for them. Saber told Evangeline what meals from his era were like compared to the hash browns, and Evangeline clung to the information like it was a lifeline. She was learning so much only a day into the Holy Grail War. She didn't want it to end.

They were heading back in the direction of the park she'd slept in when the flash of red caught her eye. Evangeline turned around slowly, as did Saber; the red had been so fleeting and so bright, she almost wondered if it was just a car going past or a scooter. But the pain that shot through her command spells said otherwise. Saber wrapped an arm around Evangeline's shoulders and escorted her out of the area quickly.

"A Servant," he said in a hushed tone. "There's a high chance they've noticed us, Master. I will not seek them out, but I will defend you to my last breath if they follow us."

(Mortal danger aside, Evangeline was gushing again.)

As they hurried along to a more secluded location, free of prying eyes and the potential of an ambush, Evangeline caught sight of the long purple hair fluttering through the breeze. The Servant was waiting for them, she realised. Waiting atop a nearby building, the rest of the world unaware of their presence.


	4. 03

**It's been a while, oof. My health hasn't really improved so updates around this speed are probably going to be the norm, but I hope it was worth the wait for you guys? I had a lot of fun writing the POVs for this one, especially since we've got our first Servant interaction established.**

* * *

 **03**

 **Day One: Afternoon**

 **Matsuo**

"This is just outright gruesome."

Matsuo took a long, much needed drag of his cigarette. "It's a crime scene, Kirigaya," he drawled. "They're meant to be gruesome."

Detective Hanako Kirigaya scowled at him. "Fuck off, Ueda," she growled.

Even with the short banter exchanged between them, he couldn't deny how true her statement was. This _was_ gruesome. He'd seen a lot of crime scenes in his career, but this had to take the cake for how simultaneously messy and meticulous it was presented. Blood all over the floor and walls, bodies in varying states of mutilation mixed in the middle.

All children, Matsuo noted with a shudder. He lifted his shoe to his knee and crushed the cigarette against the sole. Cases with underage victims were the worst.

There was at least one survivor among the children, already being loaded into an ambulance with an aunt or something hot at his heels. Matsuo had to wonder just what caused the grievous injuries all over young Daichi Oshiro's body, just how he'd _survived_ such an attack without bleeding out so far. It was unnatural, Matsuo had initially thought. But the tingling against his shoulder and the gaze that followed him everywhere served as small reminders that not everything was as simple, as cut-and-dry, as they used to be.

Matsuo breathed sharply through his nose as he walked over to his car. This was a lot of paperwork to fill out, for sure. He really wasn't looking forward to juggling this case and a Grail War.

 _Lord Shiro_.

He froze midway through opening the driver side door. The voice still wasn't entirely familiar to him, naturally, but it was more being called by his brother's name that startled him. Matsuo wasn't even aware he and Shiro still looked so alike as adults.

 _My apologies, Lord Matsuo_ , the voice tried again. Matsuo resumed entering his car and wasted no time pulling his phone from his pocket. It was easier to pretend he was in a call with someone—less people assuming the worst of him, less mages recognising him talking to a Servant.

"It's fine, Assassin," Matsuo sighed. He tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder before reaching over to his glove compartment for his notepad. Assassin never really spoke much unless it was important, after all. "What's up?"

He pressed the pen to the paper, ready to write down his notes in the shorthand only he seemed to know how to decipher.

 _The house you were called to had trace amounts of mana that were not attributed to the bounded field surrounding it. I believe a Servant may have played a part in the murders_.

"A Servant? You sure?" Matsuo began listing the other Servant classes, then put little asterisks next to the ones he assumed were best suited for smaller scale destruction such as this. "Didn't the field or whatever keep them out?"

 _Not unless they were explicitly forbidden entry,_ Assassin went on. _May I make a suggestion, Lord Matsuo?_

"Hm?"

 _Unless this Master and Servant have brought innocents into the Grail War, it is right to assume that the Master is connected to the Oshiro family in some way. If we do not receive word of a rogue Servant, I suggest investigating the Oshiro family for possible Masters_.

Matsuo wrote down the Oshiro name as carefully as possible. It wasn't a bad idea, honestly. He had the resources to investigate, and no one would question why he was looking into a family that had just suffered a slaughtering. It was, without a doubt, the best mundane way to go about the Grail War without drawing attention from other Masters.

He flipped the notepad closed and hummed affirmatively. "Sounds good, Assassin," he agreed. He shoved the notepad back into his glove compartment. He was going to be busy tonight, that was for sure. "Pretty sure we've had the name appear in a vehicular manslaughter case once, too. Wouldn't be surprised if it was connected."

 _A vehicular manslaughter case?_

"Yeah." Matsuo plugged the keys into the ignition and waited for the engine to turn over. His car rumbled to life, but he didn't dare drive away just yet. That would be illegal, after all—and Matsuo was too exhausted to deal with a lecture from his superior about being reckless, despite not actually being on the phone. "Eldest son of the old man that was killed today. He and his wife got into an accident. Son died, his wife was pregnant at the time and suffered a miscarriage. Happened a few years ago, but apparently the wife left the country shortly after her recovery." He let out another hum. Matsuo pretended to hang up his phone and put the car into gear. "Might do me some good to look into her, see if she knows anything about what happened today."

Yeah, he told himself as the Oshiro property slowly disappeared from sight. Maybe Katerina Oshiro could shed some light on a few things.

"Assassin."

 _Yes, Lord Matsuo?_

He turned onto the street that led to the station quickest. If someone connected to the Oshiros was a Master, it'd pay to not waste any time figuring out who.

"I want you to keep an eye on Daisuke Oshiro. He's the sole survivor of the attack, so I'm betting he either escaped the Master alive or he struck a deal with them. Report to me anyone who visits him in hospital, and don't engage unless I say so. Understand?"

Matsuo could practically hear the smile from under Assassin's skull-shaped mask. _Of course, Lord Matsuo_.

* * *

 **Casval**

He was in for quite the encounter, that was for sure. Casval hadn't anticipated any happening a mere day into the War, but he supposed he couldn't complain. He had faith in Lancer's abilities, and the fact that she'd found the Saber so soon—with their Master simply wandering around, unarmed—seemed to be fate. After all, who better to take out the best of the three Knight classes than another of the same class?

 _Saber hasn't revealed themself yet_ , Lancer reported. Casval clicked the top of his pen open and closed. Lancer had been following the duo for some time now, ever since mid-morning, but still Saber refused to come out of hiding. Casval couldn't help wondering what the Servant's plan was, remaining hidden while their Master fled to a nearby playground.

He turned for the map of Fuyuki pinned to his wall and revised what he knew so far. A sighting of Berserker in the modern side of the city, plain as day to even children who'd walked past; Archer quickly fleeing Lancer's sight—entirely, it seemed—as soon as she'd detected his presence in a marketplace; now Saber and their Master, hurrying over to one of the less populated playgrounds in the older part of the city. Casval moved the small magnets he'd assigned each Servant accordingly, until finally he had a clearer picture of Lancer's easiest target so far.

 _Saber will be the best to observe first_ , Casval decided. _They'll be more concerned protecting their Master, if they're the only Servant you've found in the same vicinity as their Master_.

 _Naturally_ , Lancer agreed. She didn't sound disappointed in his decision, but not impressed, either. _I'll continue to follow. Perhaps Saber is an agreeable sort and will allow me a chance to spar_.

An excellent idea. Until such a time came, however, Casval was determined to get at least something written down in his notes.

 _Describe to me what you know in the meantime,_ he said.

So began Lancer's explanation, sharing her notes with Casval while he logged it all into his notebook and made certain to detail even the smallest of things. He wasn't one for profiling others, really, but there was only so much Casval would do on his own—Lancer had proven that as soon as she'd been summoned. If he knew the weaknesses of the opponents, knew how to appeal to them and adapt to their personal tastes and limitations, he had the upper hand. As a Faust that was the most important thing he could have—that, and the Mystic Eyes that would prove to turn his opponent's magic against them.

Casval read over each page once Lancer was done. It wasn't the neatest in the world, but it was enough for him to understand what he was up against as soon as he chose to act in the coming days. Lancer went silent, then, and Casval was left on his own to revise his opponents' perceived weaknesses.

 _Saber  
Appearance unknown.  
Master is around late teens, early 20's; female.  
Unarmed, do not appear to be retreating to a home base.  
Notes: Master's command spells located on hand; shaped like a tower._

 _Berserker  
Large in stature, effects of Mad Enhancement yet to be seen.  
Master is assumed to be untrained and inexperienced.  
Unarmed and inactive. Further investigation recommended.  
Notes: Master most likely entered the convenience store Berserker waited outside of. Dedicate time to staking out the store._

 _Archer  
Little known about appearance—dressed mostly in green, though only a cloak was visible at the time.  
No sign of a Master. Assumed Archer is keeping an eye on the city like Lancer.  
Most likely has Archer-typical traits. Proceed with caution.  
Notes: Can erase presence entirely? Noble Phantasm? May prove to be the wild card of the War. Currently holds highest danger level._

Casval clicked his pen shut and sucked in a deep breath. It would have to do for now. All he had was speculations and more questions than before, but at least it was a start he knew other Masters hadn't found quite yet. Well... Perhaps save for Archer's Master. With total presence concealment, there was no telling how much that particular pair would know by now.

Going out for an investigation of his own couldn't hurt at this point, he figured. It was common knowledge that most, if not all Magus families sought to reach the Swirl of the Root—but unless they directly conferred with the Church, managed to sway the overseer, there was no knowing which of seven families had a chance for such a dream to come true during the Grail War. With so many Tohsakas and the Einzberns vying for a place in the War each time it occurred, Casval wouldn't be surprised if his own family was overlooked this time around.

Free reign to go for a simple walk and gather whatever information he deemed important.

He supposed that was a good start, too: Investigating the Einzberns, perhaps even finding out if they've readied a vessel for the Grail. Casval's knowledge of the human body, of necromancy, probably wasn't something they didn't know themselves; however, there was no harm in seeking to ally with them and getting the upper hand in the War.

And if they rejected him... Well, he'd get to that if it became a problem. His family name was attached to the creation of a homunculus just like the Einzberns, after all. He was certain the mere existence of Mephistopheles was enough to convince them he was worthy of their time.

Casval pulled his white lab coat over his shirt and made quick work of putting on his gloves. No one would see the command spells, no one would assume he was anything other than a doctor off-duty for the day.

He was just as hidden as Archer.

* * *

 **Saber**

"Are you alright, Master?"

Evangeline nodded silently up at him. Saber couldn't help the small sigh of relief that escaped him. The Servant had been following them since they'd gotten breakfast, never slowing their pursuit, and for a while Saber had feared underhanded tricks would come into play. He had feared he would lose his Master in the same vein he had lost his king, and he truly wasn't sure if he could handle such a failure a second time.

But Evangeline stood by his side, partially hiding behind his cloak as the sky began to turn red with the afternoon sun dipping into the horizon. She was safe and sound, and he was more than certain defending her would be easier without so many distractions surrounding them.

The playground was not his first choice for a place to fight if it came to it, but it certainly posed enough of an obstacle course that even their pursuer had to be extra careful as well.

He quickly motioned for Evangeline to hide within a nearby gazebo, its low roof and high supports the perfect place to stay out of danger and remain out of their pursuer's sights. She ducked behind one of the supports and for a moment Saber swore he spotted something small move behind her—ginger and furry, up unnaturally on its hind legs—but he was left with little time to ponder it as the Servant revealed themselves.

Saber moved his gaze to the row of monkey bars blocking a curving slide. The first thing he noted was the gender of his opponent—a woman—and the sight of the crimson spear in her hand, tucked harmlessly behind her body, sent him into a flurry of questions. A Lancer? How many Lancers seated among the Throne of Heroes were women? If not a Lancer, then what? Saber asked himself these things as he slowly stepped over the long plank separating the playground's wood chip ground from the park's luscious grass. Saber made certain that his cloak would not get in his way, discarding it without a second thought as he summoned his sword. A plan, but beautiful, sword; one the Servant may assume to be his Noble Phantasm.

It was an assumption Saber hoped turned the fight to his favour, should one break out.

"Saber, I presume?" the Servant called. She walked along a few bars before stopping just a few bars shy of the slide.

Saber continued to walk along the wood chips. He was set on taking stance by a swing made from rope and half a tyre. If he could use it to distract her, perhaps he and Evangeline could flee...

"Correct," he replied. "Am I to assume you are Lancer? Forgive me if I'm wrong," he added earnestly. She may be a potential enemy, but she deserved respect all the same. Decent courtesy from her fellow Servant.

She smiled at him and nodded. The lance was twirled in her hand as she brought it to her front. "Aye," she said. Lancer barely moved an inch from her spot as Saber finally took his position. Amusement flickered across her expression at the sight of him. Saber calculated more theories to himself, possibly overanalysing the simple look she'd given him—but it was dangerous to overlook the possibility that she was a Heroic Spirit of considerable legend in favour of thinking her overconfident.

Lacer bowed to him, low and slow, from atop the monkey bars. Saber blinked, considered his options, but ultimately returned the favour. If she were truly overconfident and dishonourable, she would've lunged for his Master by now. As much as he was trying to protect the teen, Saber wouldn't deny that he'd left her an open target on the off chance that Lancer's Master wanted to fight him.

"I have a request, Saber," Lancer said smoothly. She pointed the tip of her spear at him. Saber didn't bother with a response, certain she would indulge herself regardless. "I would like to spar. My Master has no interest in hunting anyone down currently, and of the Servants I have seen thus far today, _you_ have the least information to go on."

"You seek to gauge my power?" Saber set his feet to a shoulder-width, gripping his sword tighter with his silver hand.

"Selfishly, perhaps," Lancer agreed. "I do prefer finding one I deem worthy in this War rather than remain in the shadows and slowly pick off my opponents. Many chosen by the Grail to fight in these Wars come from mediocre legends, inflated only by time and the egos of storytellers."

A test of strength? No, it couldn't be just strength. Strength alone didn't deem one "worthy" in most legends, and Saber was sure Lancer followed such an ideal.

"I see," Saber said. He raised his blade and completed his stance. "An odd request, given our circumstances. But I shall accept. On the off-chance we may become allies for a time, knowing each other's strengths may prove useful."

Lancer hummed amusedly. "How opportunistic," she teased. "In the more likely case we fight again to the death, we will be better prepared for the other's tactics. Perhaps even their Noble Phantasm."

And with that Lancer launched her spear in Saber's direction. It flew steadfast towards his chest, a killing blow if he wasn't quick enough—perhaps worse if her spear had some other effect hidden within—and out of desperation Saber cast aside his sword and threw up his silver arm. The spear scraped along it harshly as he slid as far out of its path as he could; the spear's tip tore through the robe under his armour, danced dangerously close to his skin.

The spear pierced the half-tyre and sent it flying. Saber backed away and lunged for his sword. He couldn't let Lancer get to her spear again, not with precision and power like that behind a mere toss. Saber dared a glance back up at the monkey bars, at the general area she may have been in the time they'd moved, but all he saw were flashes of purple. Lancer was fast.

He looked up just in time to see her hovering above him, mid-flip and tracing the air above Saber's head with her finger. Mundane eyes would not have seen the Rune she inscribed in the air. They would not have even known she'd used a Rune at all, assuming her a Servant who had fire in her legend. But Saber saw the Rune. He recognised _Sowilo_. And he had a very quick decision to make.

The air around him grew humid, a crackling emitting from the Rune and taunting him with a fate he wasn't eager to live out. He dug his heel into the ground and abandoned all thoughts of his sword. It was just a plain sword. It was not the weapon that would win him a battle with Lancer. Mustering as much strength as he could, Saber pushed himself back in the direction of the monkey bars—effectively switching places with Lancer, he thought idly.

Fire erupted where he once stood, and Saber counted himself lucky that the large explosion, turning the wood chips beneath to warm ashes, only managed to harm his leg. Saber rolled along the wood chips as Lancer landed gracefully atop the tyre swing. He watched her pull her spear from the swing and regard him with an almost bored expression. To her right was his sword, ripe for the taking in order to disarm him, and she took that opportunity without hesitation.

Lancer huffed at the weapon, weighed it in her other hand. "How mediocre," she said to herself. Lancer threw aside his sword carelessly, her disappointment more than obvious in her stance. "You hoped to win a match against me with a mere rapier?"

He bowed his head once—not to agree, but to concede to her point. "Tis a rather ordinary sword, I shall admit."

 _Saber! Are you okay?_

Saber exhaled slowly and rose to his full height once more. Lancer was probably more than aware now that his arm was sturdier than his sword.

 _I'm fine, Master. And you? You're not injured?_

 _No... Please be careful Saber. Don't... Please don't use your Noble Phantasm, if you can help it._

 _As you wish, Master. Lancer only wishes for a simple spar. I will make sure it does not escalate._

He was grateful that Lancer waited during their pause. Had Saber been attacked in the middle of his exchange with Evangeline, Saber would more than likely have faltered. Appeasing his Master and fighting at once was not something easily done.

"My apologies," Saber said. "Shall we continue?"

Lancer watched him for a moment. She was silent, almost as though speaking with her own Master, and she more than obviously appraised him as the seconds ticked by. Saber held his breath as he waited. There was no telling what Lancer's Master may have been saying to her, and there was only so much trust to place in Lancer's description of them. Interests could change at the drop of a hat, depending on how fickle a person was.

"Hm," Lancer responded eventually. But it wasn't directed at Saber—it was almost to herself, a decision she'd made on the spot. "Well, then."

Lancer dropped to the scorched area beneath her and took stance. Saber did the same, readying his silver arm to deflect the strikes of her spear. Seconds passed, an agonising wait to see who would make the first move. Lancer balanced her spear in one hand, and with the other she reached out to the space beside her.

Another Rune? Saber dug his heel into the wood chips again. She wouldn't use the same Rune on him twice, would she? True to Saber's lingering doubt, Lancer didn't inscribe another Rune into the air. No, she laid her hand open and, as though taunting Saber, slowly called forth another spear. Identical to the one she already wielded, more than likely just as dangerous.

Lancer lunged, both spears ready to strike. Saber jumped back as far as he could, landed atop a seesaw as Lancer pursued. She landed on the opposite end, momentarily launching Saber into the air; while she adjusted her footing and prepared to follow, Saber summoned his sword once more. Bolts of crimson homed in on him, ready to strike him down proper this time. Saber threw out his silver arm to catch one spear, and with his sword he prepared himself to parry.

The harsh scrape of his arm and the spear colliding sent a chill down his spine. Saber and Lancer descended, until finally he felt his feet touch the ground and his bearings returned to him. His sword barely kept the other spear from striking him, its tip nicking his armour this time, and he barely had time to push the spear further away before the blade of his sword snapped in two.

Saber wasn't used to fighting barehanded. Knights of the Round were honourable, fought with weapons rather than their fists, and he was no exception. But he wasn't facing a Knight of the Round, nor someone who shared his sentiment. Saber swallowed his pride as a knight and snaked his silver arm around the spear in his grasp. His wrist locked in place as the nook of his elbow tucked the shaft close to his torso, and with all is might Saber threw the spear to his right.

Lancer went flying with the spear, surprise evident on her face. Her grip slipped from her weapon, leaving it in Saber's hands, and she allowed herself to be flung in the direction of the spiral slide. Now she was back to one weapon, Saber thought with a hint of relief. Perhaps this would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. Perhaps this would convince her Master to consider allying with Evangeline rather than eliminate her from the War.

Long legs balanced carefully on the slide before Lancer finally looked back over at Saber again. The disappointment from earlier was long gone, replaced by an almost... familial expression. Approval, but not the authoritative kind. No, Lancer's approval seemed almost friendly. Proud.

"Your arm," she said, pointing to him with her spear. Saber twirled Lancer's other spear in his silver hand before planting it into the ground by its blade. "It is unorthodox, but I've yet to see a weapon—perhaps even armour—quite like it, capable of simply grabbing my spear without suffering ill effects."

Ah, he'd been right then. Lancer's spears were more than just sharp—there was something hidden within, perhaps a curse or poison that assisted in taking down her enemies.

"I take back what I said earlier," Lancer went on. "You're no longer mediocre. You've yet to earn a place among those I deem worthy, but for now take pride in knowing that you've impressed me."

He released a relieved breath. It was over, then. Saber relaxed his stance and released Lancer's other spear. It disappeared, leaving behind only a small dent in the ground where it had pierced.

And then it was back in Lancer's hand, and she was readying herself for another strike.

"If you survive this, perhaps you will be worthy."

She was in front of him before a second even passed. Saber barely had time to breathe as he watched the spears glow, watched them fold and contort to impossible angles that made it impossible to fend even just _one_ off. Excitement was clear in Lancer's eyes as she thrust forward—Saber barely had time to move just a step to the right, to make sure the spear pierced his shoulder rather than his heart.

It was excruciating. Saber was forced into the air, suspended by just the wound in his shoulder, and everything within him burned. He willed his arm to move, to remove the spear before the second one struck, but his prosthetic simply trembled in place with each effort he made.

 _Master!_ Saber called out in a last desperate effort. _Please flee! She's going to use her Noble Phantasm and I've no idea how far her range will reach!_

Mere feet below him, Lancer hoisted her spear over her shoulder. " _G_ _á_ _e Bolg_ ," she started.

Saber felt his heart sink as the spear pulsed to life, ready to strike.

As Lancer threw the spear with all her might, she finished calling its name with a decisive, " _Alternative!_ "

For a fleeting second Saber could feel the Grail calling him back to the Throne of Heroes. He could see the spear piercing his heart, delivering a death far worse than his first and a failure he may never recover from, no matter how many Wars he'd be summoned to in the future.

All he saw was red. Red, the colour of his king's blood on the battlefield. Red, the colour of Lancer's delighted gaze glued to him like a hawk. Red, the colour of the spear closing in on him as it prepared to join its twin.

 _By order of command spell! Saber, teleport to my side!_

And then the red vanished. Saber felt as though he'd surfaced from a deep lake, breathless as sweat clung to his skin and the wound left by the spear in his arm met open air. Wind whipped around him, flicking his hair into his face every so often. He gasped desperately for air and looked high and low for just a smidgen of a clue to where he was.

He saw red, marked on his Master's hand in the shape of a tower. Two command spells safely available to Evangeline, one fading away until finally it resembled only a mere bruise.

Saber relaxed back against the warmth she'd summoned him to. Whatever was carrying them through the air, away from Lancer and her Noble Phantasm, it was safe. Evangeline was safe.

"Forgive me, Master," Saber wheezed. Evangeline collapsed on top of him, almost hysterical as she wailed in tune with the powerful winds.

"Just hang in there, Saber!" she begged. "I'll get us somewhere safe and you can rest up, okay?"

Truly, Saber thought, Evangeline was a considerate Master.


	5. 04

**Bit of a wait, but hey I've got the full story mapped out! I'm really looking forward to seeing what you think of where I take it, but for now here's the conclusion for Day 1!**

* * *

 **04**

 **Day One: Night**

 **Bramwell**

"Hm..."

Archer crossed his legs as he lit his cigar. "It's a lot to unpack, eh?"

"I wouldn't say _that_ ," Bram sighed. He looked down at the notepad with a frown. They'd been doing so much staking out today that it was hard to figure out just how much information was useful in the long run. While Bram and Archer hadn't exactly been active, everyone else seemed to be avoiding each other entirely.

Well, Bram decided upon looking at the Lancer notes, maybe not everyone.

"Dunno about you," Archer said, "but I'm happy to sit this one out until the last minute."

He flipped a page, scanning over the minimal notes he had for Assassin. That one was the biggest enigma of them all. "I represent the Church. Sitting out isn't an option."

Archer clicked his tongue and took a deep drag. "Stiff," he grumbled.

"I'm _not_ stiff." Smoke billowed in his face, forcing him to swat at the air in an attempt to get it away. Really, Archer could've done this anywhere else. Why'd he have to pick the spot Bram was downwind of? "Didn't you have important things you had to uphold way back when?"

A snort. "Morals."

Bram rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his notes. It was only one day into the War, so maybe he could afford to relax a little. Just a _little_ , though.

"So was there anything new we learned?" he tried. "I know you got a bit of info from Lancer and Saber's fight, but was there anyone else?"

Archer shrugged. He flicked the end of the cigar and let the ashes be pulled away by the wind, descending upon the busy roads below. Bram did his best to be patient with the man—he may have had a bad attitude towards getting official business done and preferred avoiding fights, but he definitely didn't shirk his work once he was persuaded to participate. The amount of details he'd noticed from Lancer and Saber's fight was more than Bram expected, right down to the exact kinds of runes used in the battle and the effects Lancer's Noble Phantasm had on Saber during the brief scuffle.

The Servant took another drag and said, "Didn't see much more of Berserker. Caster's staying incognito too. Considering what happened with that Master from the Katayama family, I think we can rule out Assassin. I mean, you did quite the number on the poor guy."

Bram shuddered and tore out the page he'd saved for Assassin. He hadn't wanted to fight, far from it, but the way negotiations with Shiro Katayama had gone south... Bram had had no choice but to eliminate the man. The Church had labelled him dangerous, and Bram, ever loyal agent, carried out his orders as best he could.

Archer was right about doing a number on Shiro, but Bram still hadn't been able to finish him off. He'd just watched as Assassin fled with Shiro in his arms, right at death's doorstep and barely able to fight back any longer. Father Iwata had told him about the funeral, thanked him for making the hard choice; it still didn't get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.

Still, what was done was done. There was no use lamenting over his actions when he had five more Masters to account for.

"Alright," he sighed. "So that leaves us with..."

"Rider."

Bram hummed. "Yeah, Rider—"

"No," Archer said, louder. He was standing as fast as he could, bow at the ready under his cloak. " _Rider_."

Bram glanced up, out into the night sky Archer held a steady gaze at. At first he didn't see anything, and it may have been Archer's keen eyes getting ahead of Bram's regular, but soon enough he could make out the outline of an approaching object. Bram began to rise as well, joining Archer's side as he pulled a Black Key from his coat.

"Hope they're just here for a chat," he muttered. Archer hummed in agreement.

More details could be made out as the seconds ticked by. Bram could see the two bulls pulling the chariot, the red decor covering its roof. A small chariot, he thought, but definitely bigger than most Riders' steeds.

Bram and Archer backed away as the chariot began to descend upon them, landing with a delicate thud against the rooftop. The bulls stared at them, huffed, and their master let out a loud squeal in greeting.

"What do you think of my lovely chariot, Master?" Rider boasted. "Smooth ride? Ripe for a good time?"

"Definitely more comfortable than a car," a kind voice replied. There was a grunt from behind the bulls, before Rider's Master added, "Ah, they won't kick me, will they?"

 _I have no idea how to approach this_ , Archer told Bram. The confusion he conveyed was about equal to the amount Bram felt at the moment. They waited and waited, watching as Rider—clad in pinks and whites—presented their destination to her Master—a young man with a sash over his eyes and a cane in his hands.

It was... Odd.

And then the young man turned his attention on Bram, almost as though he could see him perfectly fine through the sash. "My apologies for barging in like this," he said. "Rider and I were only planning on observing the area before she spotted you."

Beside him, Archer mumbled a soft, "Aye..."

"No need to be all rough and wave your little toys about," Rider teased. She dismissed her chariot, and soon the space between the duos grew once more. She waved the riding crop in her hand about and giggled. "Master and I only came to talk."

That made Bram and Archer look dubiously at each other.

"Indeed," Rider's Master agreed. "I realise how early into the War we are, but it can't hurt to scope out the other Masters and see if an ally can be found. My name is Takuya Okami, by the way," he added.

Bram had to think for a moment on why the name felt so familiar. It wasn't like he actually _knew_ a Takuya Okami, but the surname alone was enough to make him look for a connection. He'd heard the name somewhere—but where?

As he pondered, he cleared his throat and said, "Bramwell Gascoigne. Feel free to just call me Bram."

"Bram, then," Takuya said with a smile. "Pleasure to meet you. And your Servant...?"

"Archer," the redhead sneered. Like Bram had still had yet to put away his weapon. Neither was taking any chances.

Takuya let out a soft chuckle. He inclined his head towards Rider and said, "You must've seen us from quite the distance. My apologies again for startling you."

And then it hit him all at once. Okami—as in Ritsuka Okami, the man who'd slain a Dead Apostle Ancestor twenty-five years ago. The man whose son, a victim of an act of revenge, went through hell and back for not only the sake of his sight, but his life. Considering the sash over Takuya's eyes now, though, Bram assumed only so much could be done for him.

Which meant this was also the same Association agent Father Iwata informed him of. As overseer Iwata was obligated to remain impartial to any and all conflicts between the Masters, only offering sanctuary and rewarding spare command spells to Masters if they're deemed worthy of it. But Bram was given a vague list of notable participants this year—and a mage with the rank of Pride whose lineage held great accomplishments definitely fit the bill for what he was looking at right now, what he was recalling about the Okami family overall.

Bram glanced at Archer and shook his head slightly. Archer gawked at him, but still dismissed his bow and returned to a neutral stance.

"I'm honoured to meet you, Takuya, but I must ask if you truly came here to learn about us. The last Master I encountered and sought to ally with proved to be disingenuous."

Takuya's brows rose. "Is that so?" he said slowly. "I can understand your apprehension, then. As a sign of trust, what if I told you Rider's true name?"

Three sets of eyes grew to the size of saucers. Even Rider was stunned, immediately turning to Takuya and spluttering out demands. She wasn't as on board with the plan, which only served to prove to Bram just how honest Takuya was being. They hadn't planned a fake name beforehand, and they hadn't even talked about sharing any names at all. It was spur of the moment—but still a calculated decision.

Bram sighed and put away his Black Key. This was a far cry from what he'd experienced with Shiro, at least.

"No need," he said. Takuya visibly relaxed. He must not have wanted to share the name either. "So, what'd you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to find out what your goal with regards to the Grail is," Takuya explained. "I, myself, have a mission to carry out, which so happens to align with my own desires, but I find another perspective is good to hear once in a while."

A fair explanation, though it did little to elaborate on what Takuya's desires were exactly. But Bram was sure he'd find out soon enough. No one could keep their want for the Grail secret for long.

"I'm representing the Church," Bram said carefully.

Takuya lowered his head. "Oh?"

"Despite that, I'm not free of my own desires," he added. Takuya smiled—probably pleased he hadn't gotten some cookie-cutter response. "For brevity's sake, why don't we say I follow most mages' desire to reach Akasha?"

Not the whole truth, but definitely not a total lie. Besides, who knew how Takuya would react to Bram's more personal desires?

The answer seemed to do the trick, at least; Takuya nodded in understanding, smile still on his face as he inclined his head once more to Rider.

"What do you think, Rider?" he asked. Rider flicked her hair over her shoulder and shrugged.

" _Boring_ compared to what _I_ want," she huffed. "But I have to give them credit for being cautious about it."

Takuya hummed in agreement. He turned his attention back to Bram and Archer. "Would you be open to an alliance, Bram? I can't guarantee it'll last the whole War, but I'll be happy to dissolve it on a friendly note if we get to that point."

He extended a hand towards Bram, inviting him to close the space between them and shake it. Bram could only stare as he weighed his options.

An ally would be handy, especially if Rider could cover more ground than just himself and Archer. If they allied, they'd find twice the amount of information on the other Masters. Hell, maybe they'd even figure out a few identities of the Servants. Two heads were better than one, so four had to be even greater.

 _Keep your bow ready_ , Bram told Archer. The redhead stiffed again and lifted the hood of his cloak. In an instant he vanished, earning an amazed gasp from Rider.

Bram took one step, two, and then he was walking at a steady pace over to Takuya's side of the roof. The young man's hand never wavered, and he appeared to be listening intently as Bram came closer and closer. He began to lift his own hand, reaching for Takuya's, and Bram held his breath as their skin made contact. Fingers closed over the other hand, and once he was certain a sneak attack was out of the question, he released his breath.

"Alright," Bram said. He shook Takuya's hand, finding a confident strength in the boy's grip. "An otherwise temporary alliance."

* * *

 **Assassin**

The Oshiro boy came out of surgery alive. Not many people had come to see him post-op, but Assassin figured it was understandable given how many lives were lost today. Matsuo had shared the investigation so far with him, and it was only natural that the mourning of a fallen head would take priority over the surgery of a successor who was otherwise spared certain death.

But it still felt odd how utterly abandoned Daisuke Oshiro's private room was. Very rarely would a nurse come in and check on the barely conscious boy, and even rarer so were the times his doctor would walk past the room. Assassin watched as these people, with nothing better to do outside of their regular duties and checkups, simply _ignored_ their patient. No family visiting was one thing; medical professionals avoiding him was another. Assassin may not have been used to saving lives, but he definitely knew the body language of those afraid to be killed as witnesses.

Someone had given the hospital orders. Someone who'd orchestrated the Oshiro slaughter.

Assassin kept to the shadows as time passed by. He watched as nurses chattered away about their weekend plans. He listened as doctors sought second opinions for their patients' symptoms. Ever so slowly he would inch closer to Daisuke's room, until finally the rare occasion came that a nurse would open the door and peek inside. Assassin slithered in, immediately moving for the corner closest to the small window.

The child was sickly, but he was alive. The heart monitor beeped at a strong, steady pace, and every breath he inhaled was just enough to keep him going. Every few minutes he'd stir from his drug-induced sleep, but it wouldn't take him long to go back to his rest.

 _Any updates?_

Assassin settled into the corner as Matsuo's voice broke his train of thought. _He's out of surgery, Lord Matsuo. Alive and well._

 _That's good..._ He would hear the relief in Matsuo's tone. _I got an address for the sister-in-law. She did come back just this month, though she's staying at hotel on a tourist visa._

 _Do you wish for me to find her now, Lord Matsuo?_

A few seconds of silence passed, before finally Matsuo replied, _No. Keep an eye on the Oshiro kid. We can look into the woman once he survives the night_.

A sound decision, one that Assassin was more than happy to carry out. Guarding people was much easier than keeping than alive—he only had to interact with their assailants, not the objective themselves.

Or at least that's what Assassin would've thought, until the door to the room opened again.

As opposed to the previous check ins and half-hearted glances, the nurse that walks in actually came to a stop at the foot of Daisuke's bed. Walking in with her was a tall man, blond and dressed in a fur-trimmed coat, and it took Assassin no time at all to recognise the scent of betrayal wafting from the man.

He recoiled, thankful for his Presence Concealment, and watched as the man listened to the nurse's report on Daisuke's health.

"He's quite lucky that his internal injuries were less severe than the rest," the nurse told the blond. The man simply looked on with a bored expression. "We've performed a few skin grafts and did our best with the third-degree burns on his arms, though the full result of his recovery is yet to be seen. Considering how well he's going now, so soon after leaving surgery and breathing on his own, we've got high hopes."

It seemed even the blond knew that little detail was a lie. He sent a sidelong glare down at the woman, causing her to shirk away with a squeak.

"W—Would you like some time with him, sir?" she tried again. The blond turned his attention back to Daisuke.

"Yes. Leave us."

The nurse scuttled away, closing the door behind her. Assassin could feel the tension in the air as the seconds ticked by. Was this man the one who attacked the Oshiros? Was Matsuo's theory that Daisuke escaped true? Did this mean the man was a Master?

Red eyes took in the sight of the boy. He let out a small huff and turned for his charts, hung at the foot of his bed.

"I got sloppy," he grumbled. He took in the charts' details and let out another huff. "No matter. At least you serve a purpose for her."

He put the charts back and casually walked over to Daisuke's bedside. Assassin watched as, just above Daisuke's body, a small pool of gold materialised in the air. The magical power radiating from within sent him into a panic—this wasn't a Master, this was their _Servant_. And if the Servant had made those comments, then what other purpose were they here for than to kill Daisuke?

The Servant reached into the pool and dug around for a time, until finally he pulled his arm out with an object held in his hand: A potion, contained within a small vial, that held a calming blue glow to it. Assassin watched, awestruck, as the Servant went about mixing the potion in with the IV drip in Daisuke's arm. Calm blue flowed through the tube, entering his bloodstream, and all Assassin could wonder was what the point of it was. If it was a poison, the doctors and coroners were sure to detect it. If it were a healing elixir, then why was the Servant saving the boy's life?

The Servant loitered for a few minutes, checking the watch on his wrist every so often. Just when Assassin was sure he'd leave, come back another time to reap the fruits of his labour, Daisuke groaned.

"Finally awake, are we?" the Servant said flatly. The teen squeezed his eyes shut, wincing, before finally he relaxed and opened them.

"Caster...?" Daisuke groaned.

Caster— _Caster_ , Assassin repeated in his head, hoping his astonishment reached Matsuo—simply sneered at Daisuke and pointed to the drip. "My work here is done," he said. "Do your part and wait until that's faded before calling for a nurse."

"Right..."

Caster made a turn for the door, but was stopped by Daisuke reaching out for him. "Caster," the boy mumbled, "be careful. Felt a... Felt a presence back at the mansion..."

At last the painkillers in his system knocked him unconscious, but it didn't make the weight of his news any less dangerous for Assassin. Presence Concealment was best suited for spying—but he'd been reckless back at the investigation, so sure no one would sense him while he reported his findings to Matsuo. He looked over at Caster, certain that the Servant would be well on his way out in search of him now—

Red eyes stared right at him. Assassin stayed rooted to the spot, forcing everything in him to not prepare for an attack. He was completely concealed—Caster was just working on the assumption that Daisuke had been followed to the hospital. The correct assumption, at least.

The door clicked shut. Caster turned around, facing Assassin's side of the room fully. There was only approximate knowledge of where an intruder may be, and suddenly Assassin regretted his decision to linger by the window. In a flash of gold a heavy, stone tome landed in Caster's hands. He took one step forward, pools of gold rippling behind him. Assassin prepared for the worst, even if it wouldn't directly hit him.

And then Caster froze. He narrowed his eyes, shutting the tome with a click of his tongue. " _Mongrel_ ," he spat at no one.

Caster left the room without another second of delay. Assassin watched the window, waited for the image of a fur-trim jacket and blond hair exiting the property. Once he was sure Caster was far enough away, Assassin opened the window and climbed out.

 _Lord Matsuo_ , Assassin called. He shut the window behind him and fled to the rooftop. He had to return to the police station as soon as possible. _The Servant that attacked him was Caster_.

There was a delay before Matsuo could reply. _Caster?_

 _Yes. Moreover, it seems Caster's Master has instructed him to heal Daisuke Oshiro._

Which meant that a deal had been made, and that the Master was connected to the Oshiro family. Which, as Matsuo soon repeated between them, meant Katerina Oshiro was worth investigating.

* * *

 **Momoko**

"Ah, this place always smells so good!"

Pan-Oba chuckled at Momo. "You always say that," she cooed.

Well, it was true. Pan-Oba always made the best pastries and bread at her bakery, and Momo was always more than ready to lend a hand with the behind the scenes action. Late at night Pan-Oba would prepare her dough, letting them ferment until opening hours—and Momo, ever eager for free food, would _always_ knead it all for her.

Today must've been a busy day for Pan-Oba, too, if the lack of shortcakes and bread rolls were any indicator. Momo wasn't going to be going home with a whole bunch of goodies, tonight. Maybe just the bare minimum.

"It was nice of you to bring your friend along, too," Pan-Oba said. Momo kneaded the dough with intense concentration, only humming to let Pan-Oba know she heard her. "How thoughtful of him to take out the garbage so you can help me prepare tomorrow's bread."

"Berserker's helpful like that," Momo grunted. She threw the dough against the bench. It had to be almost ready to ferment, right?

"Yes, yes. Such a funny name, though."

Momo froze. "Oh," she said slowly. "That's just a nickname. He likes dressing up in hardcore stuff."

"Well he's a lovely young man. So quiet, too."

She laughed softly. Sure, Berserker was a quiet guy. And he was kind enough when he had his moments. But Momo wouldn't go so far as to call him lovely. Guy was a powerhouse, and powerhouses were best suited for the word "extreme". Momo had just yet to see Berserker go extreme.

Pan-Oba passed a tray to Momo and soon they began to process of letting the dough ferment. It didn't take long for all of the dough to be put away, and Momo was left to happily munch on some melon bread leftover from today. Berserker walked in not long after she began, and Pan-Oba, ever grateful for the help, served him a helping too.

Pan-Oba groaned as she sat down at the table with them. "You two are saving my back a helluva lot of pain," she laughed. Momo grinned, and Berserker did his best to mimic it. "At this point I feel like I should be hiring you. Free bread can't be enough for all this work, Momoko."

"Nah, it's fine," Momo said around the bread. "Your bread's really nice, and I like getting it in exchange for chores."

The old woman smiled even wider. She watched, patient, as Momo and Berserker finished their bread. As soon as the plates were cleaned of all crumbs and Momo let out a pleased groan, Pan-Oba's expression fell into something akin to concern.

"Momo," she said, and Momo had to hold back her fight or flight response at the tone. This was not going to be a good conversation, she knew it. "You aren't getting into trouble, are you?"

Trouble was her middle name. "Of course not," she lied.

Pan-Oba's brow furrowed. "I had a strange lady visit me today. Didn't buy anything, but she was convinced I'd seen someone she was looking for. She looked almost like you, even."

Momo clenched her hands into fists on her lap.

"I had to tell her I didn't know anything, but something tells me she won't give up easily," Pan-Oba went on. She looked Momo in the eye and added, "Be careful, won't you, dear?"

Momo nodded. "I will," she promised.

The smell of bread in the oven clung to her clothes even as she left for the night, the clock striking midnight by the time Pan-Oba got around to turning off the shop lights. Momo stood by Berserker, just at the nearby crossing, as she pondered the news. There were plenty of people in Fuyuki, let alone Japan, and it was entirely possible that this woman _happened_ to resemble Momo. That the crisis the woman was having was unrelated to Momo.

But she knew better. As much as she hated it, she knew _better_. She'd recognised her mother's voice when Berserker had been summoned, and it was hard to imagine anyone else giving her the time of day, much less the address of the church. Was it really so much of a surprise that she'd been dragged into this by her mother, who now wanted to check on her progress?

Berserker held the plastic bag of bread up to Momo's face. She blinked, hardly even realising the crossing was safe to pass through, and looked up at him.

" _Mo_..." he grunted.

"Yeah, yeah. You want some more?" She reached into the bag and pulled out two slices of pumpkin bread. Berserker pinched one of the slices between two fingers and stuffed it whole into his mouth. "Try not to choke on it."

They crossed the street and made steady progress back in the direction of her apartment. All the while Momo would slip back into her thoughts, to Pan-Oba's warning, and ponder what it meant for her. Would she be found eventually? Would she be able to avoid a confrontation? Those were the big questions, and as much as she hated to admit it they were also the questions that made her the most apprehensive. It'd been so long since she'd seen her mother—since the horrific abandonment she'd faced—that Momo was truly lost for what she would do if the event happened.

She stopped walking once they were a block away from the apartment. Berserker stopped almost as soon as she did, and he waited dutifully by her side as the night carried on. If there was one thing she _could_ do in preparation for being found, it was keep herself safe—emotionally and physically.

"Berserker," she said. He barely moved. "By order of command spell, I want you to stop Aura Sasaki from coming within two feet of me."

Her shoulder gave off a feeling of warmth, spreading until finally she felt one of her command spells fade away to nothing. Berserker stood up straighter, almost like a machine processing an order, before finally he looked down at her and nodded. Momo met his gaze, grinned, and began walking again.

"Alright! Enough of that dreary junk! Let's go play a few rounds before we hit the hay!"

If only for a little while, she could distract herself from the looming threat of discovery.


	6. 05

**05**

 **Day Two: Morning**

 **Matsuo**

"Katerina Lebedeva... Lebedeva... Ah, here we go." The receptionist tapped the name in the book and nodded. Matsuo tried to peek over the counter, but the book was promptly shut before he could even get a glance at the name on the page. "She's in room fifteen, just by the indoor onsen."

Matsuo cleared his throat and nodded. How the hell did this widow from overseas afford a ritzy place like this?

"Thank you," he said. "I'll be back if I need anything else."

"Happy to assist, detective."

 _The room is across the building, Lord Matsuo_ , Assassin reported. Matsuo sighed under his breath and started on his way. Despite how promising the lead was, he really hoped that Katerina had nothing to do with the Oshiro murders. That there was someone else involved with the family who summoned Caster. But, he thought with a long-suffering groan once the clerk was out of earshot, it would never be that easy for him.

Room 10, room 11, room 12... Matsuo counted them down as he passed them, and the closer he got to room 15 the more he felt something was off. He no longer felt Assassin's eyes on him, which meant he was going in alone. If he was lucky—well, half-lucky—he'd be able to run back to a public area and avoid a fight. Discretion was a big mage thing, right? That was one of the very first things Saizou had crammed into Matsuo's rushed, two-day education.

He was _not_ looking forward to whatever paperwork would come from this if Katerina turned out to be involved in the murders. Especially if she'd gotten that Servant to do it for her.

Room 15. Matsuo stared down at the door as he straightened his posture. Do or die time, he thought. Who knew how many other lives would ride on this?

He knocked twice on the door, just below the peephole, and called out, "Ms Lebedeva?"

There were very distinct voices on the other side of the door—one male, which startled him as the other, female, approached. Two seconds passed, three, and then Katerina Lebedeva opened the door barely an inch.

"Yes?" she asked, and she sounded as though she'd barely been awake for ten minutes.

Matsuo reached for his badge and held it up for her to see. The door opened just an inch further. "Pardon the intrusion at this hour," he said. "Detective Matsuo Ueda—I'm here investigating an incident that occurred last night."

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. Matsuo persevered. "May I come in and ask you a few questions?"

The male's voice called out again, more demanding than earlier, and Katerina rolled her eyes as she opened the door for Matsuo. He was right about her barely being awake—she still had large tangles in her hair and had lazily tied up her dressing gown, barely fit to see the outside world.

Matsuo knew the feeling.

"Come in, Detective," she yawned. As she stepped back to let Matsuo in, she called over her shoulder, "Gil, we have a visitor!"

A growl echoed through the room. This Gil person didn't seem to have any other complaints, though, and Matsuo walked inside to a rather quiet, well-decorated room. He knew hotels like these were basically apartments for vacationers, but it was almost staggering just how much it felt like he was walking inside the Oshiro mansion again. White walls, barely tarnished, and a shiny wood floor greeted him in the entryway. To his immediate right was what appeared to be the living room, the end of a felt couch visible around the doorway. Further ahead, possibly where Katerina had come from, was what looked like the entrance to a kitchen.

Matsuo let out a low whistle before he could stop himself. He was given a swift reprimand in the form of Katerina ever so subtly slamming the door behind him.

"Make yourself comfortable in the living room, Detective," Katerina said dully. She gestured to the doorway that led to the felt couch. "I believe it'd be rude of me not to be a little more presentable."

"Ah, thank you." Matsuo went to walk forward, but stopped when he realised there were a set of shoes at the door. "Should I...?"

Katerina waved a hand dismissively. "No need. I just put them at the door out of habit."

The living room looked like something straight out of a home deco magazine. Matsuo had to wonder just how many people came over to stay in this part of Miyama, especially with how expensive it all looked. He wasn't going to complain or make faces at the setup, especially since it wasn't in the vacationer's power how the room looked, but it sure did give off an otherworldly experience. He may has well have left Fuyuki once he'd stepped inside.

He scanned the living room as he made his way over to the couch. Very few things were set up to give the room a personal flair—but there were a few things. He'd be a poor detective to miss the photo frame put on display on the other side of the sofa, displaying a face that he'd seen just the night before when reviewing a case from last year.

 _Photo of the husband_ , Matsuo listed as he picked up the frame. It was reminiscent of the altars installed for deceased family members some homes had.

 _He resembles young Daisuke,_ came Assassin's voice. Matsuo held back his flinch as best he could. So he wasn't alone. Thank God. _Be wary, Lord Matsuo. The man she spoke to sounded like Caster._

" _Detective_ , I presume?"

Matsuo did flinch this time, but he was careful to hold tight to the photo and keep from breaking it. He looked to his right, to the entrance to a bedroom, and met the cold gaze of the man he'd heard earlier. _Speak of the devil_ , Assassin muttered.

He set down the photo and nodded. "Yes, Matsuo Ueda. I can assume you're Gil?"

The blond sneered, almost seeming to resent the fact that Matsuo had called him by name. He strode past and flopped onto the couch, taking all the space for himself while Matsuo waited for a reply. He wouldn't quite get one, though, when Katerina walked back in from the hall—fully dressed and looking ready to go downtown if Matsuo requested.

Prepared for the worst, he wondered? Or was she simply being polite? He was sure Assassin had similar theories as Katerina adjusted her glasses.

"Please forgive my friend," she said in that same dull, but still polite tone. "He's not used to the cultural differences over here yet."

And Gil sneered again, this time at Katerina.

"You had questions, Detective?" she went on.

Matsuo nodded. "Just yesterday we received a call about an incident at the Oshiro family mansion—"

" _Oshiro_?" She furrowed her brows. Slowly she began to grow pale, horror slowly dawning on her face. "Oh no..."

"I—I'm afraid so, Ms Lebedeva. I cannot give full details, but I'm afraid a number of your in-laws have passed." He watched as Katerina staggered past him, over to the couch. He waited patiently as Gil tucked his legs over the back of the couch and watched the woman with a bored expression. He'd seen some unique reactions to hearing about a loved one's death before, but this felt too generic to be real—especially with Gil acting like a nonplussed spectator. It was the reaction people thought cops expected when given bad news.

Katerina lifted a hand to her face and hiccupped into it. Perhaps he would've believed her act if it wasn't the hand with crimson command spells displayed over the back of her palm. Matsuo almost saw it as ironic that they would take a form of a stylised expression of anguish. He blinked as the details slowly began to form in his head, a mock-case being built against the fellow Master.

 _No spells used, assumed decent relationship between Master and Servant. Glasses, vision problems? Loose clothing, safe to assume chosen in the event of a fight. Overall lithe build, possibly focuses more on magic than physical strength._

His earlier thoughts on discretion flickered through his mind again. If Katerina was Master—which was far from debatable by this point—then Matsuo's best bet was to isolate them from the public. He was a cop. Cops were meant to protect civilians. If Matsuo couldn't keep a mage fight from breaking out in a hotel full of innocent lives, what good was he as a cop?

He checked his watch and scrunched his nose up at the time. There weren't many places this early in the morning that would be empty, save for a few parks and warehouses, but he needed to be careful. There was every chance that Caster would be an absolute beast in a fight, and Matsuo wanted to minimize the damage to the buildings and people around him as much as possible. But if he was smart about it, he could definitely confine a possible fight to an isolated area.

 _Assassin_ , he instructed slowly, _I want you to head to the harbour and wait for me there. If this gets ugly we can at least keep as many people out of it as possible._

Without waiting for a reply, Matsuo lowered his watch and focused on Katerina again.

"I'm sorry to ask this so suddenly, Ms Lebedeva," he said, "but could you and your friend please come with me to the station to make a statement?"

* * *

 **Katerina**

This was most definitely not the route to the police station in Miyama. This was most definitely not some standard request to give a statement.

Katya chewed her lip as the detective made another turn, following road rules like an upstanding lawman. Silence filled the undercover car while she and Caster sat impatiently in the backseat. She should've seen it coming in retrospect. This man had immediately moved for Hiroya's picture—and he knew about Katya's marriage into the Oshiro family. He would've had access to information regarding her sudden departure once she'd been released from hospital.

Matsuo Ueda had sought out Katya with a purpose.

 _Shit_ , she thought. What kind of luck did she have, being caught by a mage, possibly even a Master, who was part of the police force?

They passed another set of traffic lights, turning in the direction of the harbour. Katya watched the road carefully. Who knew how this would end? Moreover, who knew if this mage would do something to eliminate her?

"I read about your husband's death," the detective said out of nowhere. He sounded almost sympathetic, though she was sure it was just a result of the job. He would've had to tell plenty of people about tragedies before Katya. "I'm... I'm sorry about what you had to go through."

Her hand settled over her stomach before she could stop herself. The scarring was still there, not entirely faded. Normally she could ignore it—but that was if no one else reminded her they were there.

"Hm," she grunted. She and Caster exchanged glances. They had to come up with a plan, to make the most of the situation. If they could turn the tables at some point, maybe they could get away and eliminate a witness. But he hadn't seen anything yet, Katya thought with growing apprehension. As far as he knew, Katya was _maybe_ involved in the Oshiro incident yesterday.

The car entered a near-empty road, and it was apparent that he was heading for the parking lot behind the harbour. They passed the shipping containers lining the fence, hardly any workers on the premises to witness their confrontation. Katya leaned her head against the window and placed her hand against the door, hidden from the detective's sight.

 _Whatever he has planned, we're going to be in for some fun_ , Caster decided. Katya glanced over at him dryly, finding an equally dry glare trained on her. He was barely even giving her time to express her distaste before he gave her his disapproving, kingly stare.

 _Speak for yourself_ , she retorted.

 _Mongrel woman_ , he snapped back.

 _"Mongrel" is still a weak insult by modern standards. Didn't the Grail teach you anything more painful to say?_

 _You will take whatever insult you're given—_

The car came to a halt, snapping the duo from their conversation. Katya watched as the detective pulled the keys from the ignition and let out a long sigh. He seemed reluctant to go on with this.

"This isn't the station," she said innocently.

"It isn't," Matsuo agreed. "I wanted to keep as many people out of this as possible."

Well that was very Master-like of him. Maybe she was in a worse situation than she'd initially thought.

Matsuo looked at her through his rear-view mirror. "You were at the Oshiro residence yesterday," he stated.

Katya nodded slowly. Her fingers started moving slowly against the door, tracing a rune into the plastic.

"You already knew there'd been a murder," he went on. She nodded yet again. Caster slowly unfolded his leg from over his knee. They were both ready to move at the drop of a hat. "Maybe you even know who played the role of... _assassin_."

The rune blew the door off in a show of heat and pressure, Caster tackling her out of the car just as the knife flew through the windscreen. It whizzed past Matsuo and buried itself deeply into the seat she'd been sitting at, a fatal blow if she'd stayed put. Katya wasted no time gathering her bearings as Caster stood over her, tome in hand and axe at the ready; she projected a rapier as best she could under the circumstances, crouched low to the ground as the smoke slowly dissipated.

A small gap in the smoke revealed a pale, white mask staring back at them, and Caster wasted no time sending a barrage of magic its way. Flashes of light flew past them, straight at the car, and Katya watched intently for any sign of victory. If he was a novice Master, maybe this was enough to end the confrontation entirely. It would make her life, and perhaps even her quest for the Grail, a whole world easier.

But that would be too easy, and nothing was ever easy for her. Heaven forbid something be _simple_ for Katerina Lebedeva.

The smoke cleared at last, Caster's onslaught halted, and all they found was a destroyed car without a dead detective inside. Katya gritted her teeth and rose to her feet. "How in the world...?"

Harsh, pained coughs rang out from above. Katya whirled around on her heel, peeking over Caster's shoulder at the containers behind him. How did they not hear, let alone sense the movements over there? She held her sword at the ready, taking on a practiced stance, as she took in the sight of the detective hacking up a lung behind the cloaked Servant.

Another knife was thrown by a bony arm. Katya prepared herself to move, only to be stopped by Caster's axe swooping down and stopping the dagger in its path.

Matsuo climbed back to his feet, standing beside his Servant, and he wasted no time pulling his gun from its holster. Instead of the careful gaze he'd considered her with in the car, he now stared down at her and Caster with newfound awareness and self-assuredness. Katya gripped her sword tighter. He was _expecting_ this, she realised.

"What a pathetic Servant," Caster sneered, filling the silence. Matsuo aimed the gun at the duo.

"Shiro Katayama!" Matsuo called out. Katya blinked at him, thrown off by the statement. "Have you fought a Master named Shiro Katayama?"

What kind of demand was this? "You're the first one I've encountered," she said evenly. Matsuo furrowed his brows at her. As he considered her words, she looked over at the Servant by his side. They had to be none other than Assassin—the cloak, the Presence Concealment, the skull mask hiding their face. Hell, the fact that Matsuo had said "assassin" like it was some sort of codeword for a Servant was a pretty good indicator.

Katya sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself. She wasn't all too familiar with historical assassins. No matter who this may have been, they had the advantage of absolute anonymity over Caster.

 _Think, fool_.

She glanced at Caster briefly. _What?_

 _This is a Fuyuki Grail War. What assassin is usually only ever summoned here?_

Fuyuki Grail War... That was right, only one kind of Assassin was ever summoned here. She'd even learned the name of the Assassin from the Fourth War. What was it?

Her brows shot up to her hairline. Katya's eyes flittered in the direction of Assassin, just in time to see him shoot in her direction. "Hass—" she barely managed.

A collection of jewels scattered along the ground around her. Katya watched, stunned, as they all burst and cast a wall of bold, fiery red around her. Assassin collided with the wall, tripping what must've been a defence mechanism; the wall fell apart, combusting and throwing Assassin back in the direction of the container with the power of the explosion. She shielded her eyes from the fierce heat. Caster said he only had staves—how the hell did he overlook mentioning jewels?

Caster clicked his tongue as he advanced on Assassin. Light flashed as magic was thrown at the cloaked Servant, and it soon moved away from the destroyed car as Caster gave chase to the fleeing Assassin. Katya looked back up at Matsuo—but he was gone. No longer atop the container, and her mind went into overdrive. Where? _Where_ did he go in the middle of all that? She took off in the direction of the container, rapier ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Two days. Two days and she was already having a hard time with someone. What the hell was the point of all the training she went through as a child to be _better_ , to be _good enough_ , if this was all she could amount to? If she was on par with some detective from Miyama?

"Shit," she hissed. She approached the corner, slowing her footsteps to a quieter pace, and rounded in a position fit to strike.

He wasn't there.

Katya was barely allowed a moment to wonder where he'd gone before one of her feet flew out from under her. Katya yelped, shocked, as she dropped her sword and scrambled to keep her balance. She kicked out behind her in an attempt to push the man away, but Matsuo was apparently just as skilled in hand-to-hand as she was. Firm hands gripped her boot, twisting her around to face him. Katya snarled and forced herself up with her other leg, launching it in Matsuo's direction. The kick was sloppy, probably not all that powerful, but it worked in making the man release her in order to defend his head. Katya landed on the ground with a grunt and wasted no time backing away—but not without placing a small amount of mana in the ground beneath her, hoping to at least buy some time if the man triggered her makeshift trap.

It was absolutely exhausting, keeping up with that plan. Whatever Caster was doing, he was absolutely devouring her energy to get it done—and Assassin was still moving about, if the wait for his return was anything to go by. All the while Matsuo did his best to avoid her little mana mines, gun drawn as they maintained a distance that was more than obviously suitable for him. Bullets rang out, barely missing Katya or colliding with hastily reinforced clothing. How many times had he shot at her shoulder and legs, she wondered as he replaced his bullets, in an attempt to incapacitate her?

Despite the distance, they were still close enough that Matsuo had every opportunity to aim for the heart. Perhaps even the brain, Katya reasoned grimly. Why wasn't he taking the lethal shots? Why just something like a shoulder, which could easily be operated on and repaired?

A large amount of energy suddenly drained from her, and Katya stumbled just in time to witness the large pillars of fire erupting in the distance. Matsuo faltered for a moment as well, shock evident on his face, but he recovered much faster than Katya did. She could only defend herself sluggishly as he advanced, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of the harbour. One step, two steps—and then the ground disappeared under her, Katya left in a freefall heading straight for the water.

She broke through the surface, submerged before a second could even pass.

It was cold and everything hurt, her body so tired that she almost gave up right then and there. Was Assassin truly so slippery that Caster had needed to exhaust her, especially on such short notice? Or was Matsuo more powerful than he looked, supplying his Servant with enough mana to keep up with the King of Heroes? If she had enough air in her lungs she would've scoffed. Knowing her luck, it would probably turn out that Assassin was just a pest that wouldn't sit still long enough to die. She'd dealt with plenty of those, after all.

The water become colder, like winter had arrived in the few seconds she'd spent submerged. Katya looked up, prepared to swim back to the surface, but found herself stopping short as, before her very eyes, a thin sheet of ice began to cover the surface. Katya pushed and pushed, kicking her legs as hard as she could, until the palms of her hands collided with the ice. She could barely make out a form standing over her through the ice, but she had no doubt it was Matsuo watching over her.

He'd done this.

Katya scowled. She was better than this. She was _better than this_.

Despite all the pain that numbed her fingers and the ache in her lungs as her time slowly ran out, she scratched as long as she could against the ice. She had the image in her mind, the rune that would give her just enough of an opening to breathe; she just had to carve it into the ice and pray. _Sowilo_ stared back at her once her hands, frigid and slowly blueing at the tips, fell away from the ice. She waited and waited, even as the last of the air in her lungs forced its way out of her mouth—

The eruption was weak, barely enough to cause any harm to someone on the other side, but it did the job. Katya's heart, though fatigued and ready to give out, leapt for joy as the cracks rippled through the ice and have her an opportunity. One hand shot out, pushing at a shard with just enough force to upend it. Black spots crept into the corner of her eyes, but she didn't dare stop. Not when she was so close. Oxygen was right above her, waiting to be breathed in.

Both her arms broke the surface, and her head didn't take long after. Katya had never felt so relieved to breathe, to feel the harsh pain of overexerting her lungs, as she had in this moment. She dragged herself weakly up onto the ice, and once her waist bumped the edge of the hole she'd made she collapsed atop the sheet with a wheeze.

Matsuo had his gun drawn, aimed at Katya as he waited for her to make her move. It was rather pointless, she thought; after all that, she was ready to rest for at least three days, maybe four. Katya coughed and wheezed some more, and she waited for the man to finally realise she wasn't a threat in this state.

The gun dropped to the ground just a moment later. Katya stared at it, amazed it had happened so quickly, but soon listened carefully to the detective. The pained grunts as he stood frozen in place were as good a sign as any that her own Servant was on his way back. Though barely able to move, Katya wasted no time stopping Caster from executing his new plan.

 _Wait!_ she called. In a flash she saw Caster appear behind Matsuo. His axe was raised, ready to strike the neck of the detective, and there was nothing but rage in the Servant's eyes.

" _What?_ " he snarled. Matsuo tried to look over his shoulder at Caster, but the runes that circled him—slowly becoming more and more visible—held him fast. It looked like it all rested on Katya now.

She sucked in a deep breath and cleared her throat. If Caster was back, then Matsuo wasn't a threat. Assassin was gone. One Master had been eliminated. Unless Matsuo Ueda was part of her revenge plan, there was no point in killing him now.

"Assassin," she wheezed. Caster scowled down at her.

"Dead," he said with a short tone. "And soon his Master will join him."

"Not a threat," she tried, louder this time. Talking felt like such a chore when compared to the pain of just breathing. "No point."

Agonising seconds passed them by. For a moment she was sure Caster would disobey her, taking advantage of her exhaustion to finish the job. But then the runes vanished, Matsuo visibly relaxing, and Caster dismissed his axe with a venomous glare.

"Don't expect me to protect you if you're wrong, mongrel."

* * *

 **Archer**

"Done already?" Rider leaned back against her chariot. "I was expecting something... grandiose, I suppose."

The man who looked so much like Shiro Katayama crouched down next to the woman, already shrugging off his jacket to warm her up with. Archer tugged at his cloak with a frown.

"Maybe," he agreed half-heartedly. The fight between Caster and Assassin _had_ been interesting, the sheer amount of power that Assassin avoided impressive until Caster snapped, but he was more interested in the two Masters before them now. It was by this point that a dedicated, calculating Master would eliminate the competition, prevent the loser from contracting a remaining Servant.

From what he'd seen, both Masters were thoughtful of both their actions and each other. They adapted as fast as they could to the other's reactions, and even the woman's plunge into the harbour had shown desperate resilience. Despite the fight for survival, though, neither seemed to want to deliver the killing blow. It was like the moment Assassin was eliminated—for good this time, Archer reminded himself—they both gave up killing each other on the spot.

This was certainly something they had to be wary of. With any luck, maybe they'd try to take out Berserker next and get themselves killed. It would definitely save Archer and Bram the trouble.

"Let's get out of here before they notice us," Archer sighed. Rider gawked at him. She barely made a move to comply.

"We're so far away!" she argued. " _I_ can barely see a thing!"

Archer gave her a dry stare. He couldn't believe how much of a child she could be when he told her what to do. It must've been a royalty thing, he told himself. "What's the point of a discreet observation if you don't keep up with the _discretion_?"

She smiled as though he hadn't said a word. Rider leaned back against her chariot, crossing one leg over the other. Archer didn't particularly like the sadistic glint to her eye as she took in the sight of the two Masters and Caster at the harbour.

Already they'd climbed back up on solid ground, standing near the blazing car wreck to dry the woman off sooner. They were talking—of course they were talking, what else would they do?—and Archer had to put all his focus on them just to read their lips. All the while Caster stood dutifully to the side, returning to his civilian clothing and crossing his arms like a scorned child.

"Who's Shiro Katayama?" the woman asked. Archer clenched his fists tightly in his lap.

The man seemed to hesitate before replying. "My brother," was his response. A flicker of sympathy passed the woman's face, but the sneeze she let out wiped it clean in an instant.

Rider hummed thoughtfully.

"What?" Archer sighed.

"Caster is a man, correct?"

Archer furrowed his brows. "Aye?"

She grabbed the reins and cast a smug, sidelong glance at Archer. The kind of gleeful glance that hinted at only the most disastrous of plans. He didn't like where this was going to lead.

"One of my noble phantasms," Rider explained, "works exclusively on men. How simple would it be if I just..." She slowly wrapped the reins around her finger, giving it a small tug. Her bulls let out loud snorts, rearing to move at her order. " _Snatched_ Caster up for myself?"

"And if he attacks before you can use it?" Archer watched her carefully. Rider barely even flinched at the question.

"Then I'll _make_ him offer himself to me."

Well, she was ambitious, he'd give her that much. But the fact that she was prepared to go to such lengths out of her own self interest gave him a bad feeling. If Archer wanted to make it to the end, going on as little scouting trips with Rider as possible was a must.

"Another time," Archer reasoned. "Our Masters would likely punish us for acting on our own. As far as we know, these two represent the Association as well."

Rider relaxed her expression, going back to her childish pout. " _Fine_ ," she groaned. She steered the bulls in the opposite direction, and her chariot began its return trip to Takuya's home. "I can wait for the fun part, I suppose."

 _A paragon of queenly patience_ , he thought sardonically. Archer didn't bother to make a comment on the change of pace, though; he was thankful enough that she agreed in the first place, and he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a gift Rider, in this case.

"At least we have some interesting news to share," she went on. "I, for one, didn't see the little truce coming once she surfaced."

"Aye," Archer agreed. "Let's hope it doesn't prove troublesome in the long run."


	7. 06

**Almost got that weekly update lol. We have some good news, at least - my health has slowly but surely been improving, so I have more time to actually work on VaM and see it through to completion! (Which I'm very excited about, considering what I have planned for it.)**

 **Great big thank you to you guys, too - you were all so patient and stuck around despite my poor schedule, so hopefully the energy I put into all this makes up for it!**

* * *

 **06**

 **Day Two: Night**

 **Bramwell**

He wasn't surprised that Assassin was the first Servant to fall. Bram glanced at Archer with his brows raised, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. Ever since this morning's fight at the harbour, they'd been doing their best to stay under the radar.

"Apparently Katayama found his brother," Bram told Takuya over the phone. "Transferred the command spells to him."

" _Yes..._ " Takuya sounded contemplative. " _Rider mentioned that he seemed inexperienced despite his age. I'm willing to bet that the brothers were separated, or only one pursued magecraft seriously._ "

"Shiro did put up a bigger fight than the policeman did," Bram agreed.

" _At least now we have an estimate on Caster's power, as well as how long his Master can withstand the strain. I'll look into any other Masters sent by the Association, but I highly doubt that this woman is allied with us._ "

That'd be right. If someone with a little demon cat in baby booties could steal a catalyst and an accident from the Sasaki family's summoning could happen, Bram wouldn't put it past Caster's Master to oppose them. After the near-extinction of the founding families in the last War, other families based in Japan had wasted no time turning their backs on Association hierarchy.

Archer leaned against the wall of the alley with crossed arms. He watched the streets outside as Bram went on, "So all we have to look out for is Saber, Lancer and Berserker."

" _Rider and I are taking care of it. She was curious about looking at the other Servants, and I think it's best to keep our information updated._ " Takuya grunted, and from the sounds of things he must've almost dropped his phone. " _Rider, please be careful_ —"

There was a screech of a response from Rider, but Bram could make out at least some of what she was saying. She'd spotted a Servant, and from the way Archer bristled and stopped blinking entirely, zeroing in on someone across the busy street, the Servant was nearby.

Bram peeked over the heads of the people walking by. He could see red poking out from above, and he had no doubt that the large man he'd seen outside the convenience store two days ago was staring right back at him. A break in the crowd formed, revealing a much smaller form in front of the man—Berserker?—and all Bram could do was curse.

"I've seen her," he muttered. He looked to Archer, and the man nodded in agreement.

 _She left with him after you bought groceries,_ Archer said. _Must be his Master._

" _Bram, are you there?_ "

"I'm here, Takuya," he said slowly. He waited as Archer lifted his hood, vanishing from plain sight in an instant. Bram exited the alleyway, and he locked gazes with the small, blue-haired girl. She was only a teenager, he thought with dawning horror. Barely into adolescence. Who would force such a burden on a _child_? "I'm going to lead them to a more isolated area. They're targeting me, most likely."

" _Understood. Rider and I will keep a birds' eye view on you. Don't hang up the phone._ "

Bram hummed. He turned his gaze away from the girl and Berserker, focused on his path. What was the closest area that would have the least witnesses? He was in the middle of the city, and his best bet was an abandoned complex or an empty office building. Even then, there were squatters and people who worked overtime. Bram chewed his lip and sucked in a deep breath. Think, _think_.

 _Construction site, about three blocks away._

Bram felt relief flow through him at Archer's report. _Which direction?_

 _Three o'clock. The last worker just clocked out for the night, and he'll be gone by the time you get there if you keep your pace._

Archer, you magnificent bastard. That was a whole weight taken off of Bram's shoulders, and possibly even the Church. If the little girl knew the rules of the War, she'd follow for sure. Bram glanced back over his shoulder, just to check if Berserker had moved in any way; he instead found them on his side of the street, following at a very reasonable distance and watching him with careful gazes. This girl knew the rules, Bram decided, and she was being as cautious as possible with her plan.

"I'm heading to a construction site that just had its last worker leave," Bram reported to Takuya. "You and Rider wait up top for us. They've gotten closer and they'll spot you if you try to intervene early."

" _I understand. Rider, take us down to the construction site._ "

Bram glanced up, spotting the fleeting image of Rider's chariot darting through the sky like a falling star, and he wasted no time hanging up his phone and pocketing it. He approached a crossing, kicked his shoe against the pavement as he waited for the light to turn green. Berserker and his Master were just a few metres away now, within reach if he wasn't careful. Bram cast another glance back at them, meeting the girl's eyes.

"Not yet," he mouthed at her. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't make a move to close the distance any more. The light flashed green, the crowds either side of the road beginning to cross, and Bram broke into a sprint.

The girl pursued immediately, Berserker thundering after Bram and knocking people over in the crowd. It was slowing them down, for sure, and it gave Bram just a few more seconds to prepare himself. Two blocks, he had to run. That would be manageable, right?

Just barely, he soon came to realise. Berserker may have been big and stocky, but his strides were long enough to close the distance again after only a block. Were it not for the fact that his feet landed on solid earth, Bram was certain he'd have been caught before he could catch sight of the high fencing separating the site from the rest of the city. One foot landed on the ground, a shift in the earth rippling behind him, and the other followed suit.

Spike after spike of dirt jutted out behind him, forcing Berserker to pause to knock them away or simply leap over them. The people in the area were thinning out, and those who were still there hardly noticed the display. Crowds tended to ignore things they didn't want to get involved in, after all.

The signs advising passerby to keep their distance entered his field of vision. Bram continued his sprint, but ceased his manipulation of the earth in favour of a more direct, time consuming approach for the duo. He reached into his jacket and pulled out three Black Keys, each one secured between the knuckles of his fingers. Bram turned on his heel as he ran, stumbling just a little to keep his balance as he jogged backwards.

The girl at least recognised that he was going to attempt something. Bram threw the Keys into the air and yelled, "Set!"

All three grew in size, becoming wide enough to force Berserker to a full halt once they pierced the ground. Bram listened as Berserker snarled loudly, as he bashed at the Keys, and he pushed himself to run as fast as he could onto the site. Bram skidded to a stop on the first floor of what looked to be a second attempt at an apartment complex. Phone in hand once more, he dialled Takuya's number while sending a heads-up to Archer mentally.

"I'm here," he wheezed as soon as Takuya answered. He barely got a response, Takuya hanging up immediately after, and Bram watched from the shadows as Berserker tore through the gate with his Master on his back.

"Be careful, Berserker," he heard her say. Berserker grunted in response, and Bram had to raise his brows at how compliant the hulk of a man was. He'd figured that Mad Enhancement would've made communication impossible, let alone giving out orders without a command spell.

 _Rider's here_ , Archer reported. Bram let out a slow, careful breath and pulled another Black Key from his coat. It wasn't often he used them traditionally, thrown like knives, but for once he was glad he carried spares in the event he had to. There was only so much a single Black Key could do on its own, especially against something like a Servant.

 _Good. Keep an eye on me and have your bow ready. I'm gonna do something a little stupid._

 _What_ —

"Don't attack!" Bram yelled. He walked out from his hiding place slowly, one hand raised in surrender and the other holding his Black Key out for the girl to see. She turned in his direction and held a hand up to keep Berserker from charging. Bram counted himself lucky that he wasn't mowed down instantly. "Are you Berserker's Master?"

The girl nodded. "Who was yours?" she asked. Bram was ready to give an excuse—that he was connected to the Church, uninvolved with the War outside of providing sanctuary, but she stopped him before he could even form the lie. "Don't even think of saying you're not a Master. I saw him with you."

 _This isn't a "little" stupid—this is a whole lot of stupid, Master!_

 _I know, Archer_ , Bram tried.

"Archer," Bram told her. "My Servant is Archer."

"And you're competing for a wish?"

He tightened his grip on the Black Key. "Are you?"

The girl didn't seem to like his answer. She took a step away from Berserker, lowering her hand without even breaking eye contact with Bram. He gawked at her, his attention soon turning for Berserker. The burly man reared back, roaring at Bram in warning, before finally he began to charge—with a weapon drawn, no less.

Bram darted inside the building once more and set the final Key, giving Berserker a mere pebble on the path to kick away in his pursuit. Bram rushed for the stairs, climbing them two-by-two, and his thoughts went haywire with pleads for Archer to take a shot. Bram made it to the second floor, barely pausing to catch his breath. He sprinted for the next set of stairs, aiming for the third floor.

 _Archer, get Rider and Takuya to meet me at the third floor window._

An arrow flew past him and down the stairs, and Berserker let out a howl of anger.

 _I'm a bit busy!_ Archer stressed.

 _No, by all means, take your time!_ Bram stumbled along the path leading to the stairs, and almost tripped up the first step he tried to climb. _Servant business is time-consuming stuff!_

 _Cheeky prick_.

Berserker burst through the floor of the second level, and Bram actually stopped and gaped in horror at the sight of the Servant clawing his way up onto his feet. The weapon in his hands morphed and shifted in size and shape, until finally what was once a pronged spear was now a bow with a very large, very sturdy arrow ready to shoot.

Berserker pointed the bow and arrow in Bram's direction. Almost as soon as it began to glow, preparing for launch, Bram hightailed it to the third floor and screeched, " _ARCHER!_ "

Bram was really putting his faith to the test with this. He ignored the stitch in his side and sped for the nearest window, feet pounding against the floor as the glow from Berserker's weapon—his _Noble Phantasm_ —intensified. He slammed one foot on the windowsill, hoisted himself up, and in plain view of Berserker's Master Bram flung himself from the window.

He fully expected to collide with the ground and die a slow, probably painful death. But Bram found there were many surprises for the day left in store for him. Not only did he _bounce_ when he collided with something, but he continued to move as the sound of Takuya's voice rang out through the air. Bram opened his eyes, fighting back against the wind whipping his face, and was just in time to witness Berserker's Noble Phantasm be unleashed. The building exploded in a pillar of gold, countless strikes assaulting the structure and forcing the building to crumble atop the Servant. Bram marvelled at the sheer amount of power before him, especially compared to what he knew of Archer's Noble Phantasm.

He pulled himself to the edge of the chariot and climbed down to sit between Rider and Takuya. The duo were already occupied with the possibility of Berserker emerging from the rubble out of nowhere, too much to notice the Master watching them flee already.

Bram focused all his energy on communicating with Archer, delivering one order above all the ruckus: _Archer, poison the Master!_

There was no response, but Bram knew the message had gone through. As soon as he caught sight of the arrow whizzing in the girl's direction, he knew he'd set the stage for a later victory.

The arrow grazed her arm, tearing at her arm warmer and putting her on high alert. She was becoming sluggish, no doubt drained by Berserker's attack, but she managed one shout of his name before she dropped to her knees.

 _Poison's been fired_ , Archer reported. _I can use Yew Bow whenever you're ready_.

 _Not now. We need to retreat in case Berserker uses that Noble Phantasm again._

 _Got it._ Archer paused, before adding, _You scream like a baby_.

Bram buried his face in his hands. He left a small enough gap between his fingers to see Berserker burst out from the rubble, heading straight for his Master and cradling her prone form in his arms. Berserker roared once more, and like a spectre disappeared into the night.

Awkward silence settled over the group on the chariot, and slowly they descended until the bulls were on the ground.

Finally, as though wanting to make the situation even more tense, Rider sighed dreamily. "What a rush," she said.

* * *

 **Casval**

"Thank you for allowing me to enter your home, sir."

Casval was met with the steady, cold gaze of Jubstacheit von Einzbern in response. It was a gaze that appraised Casval, and he knew his lineage would prove handy in forming Jubstacheit's opinion. Fausts were knowledgeable, and Casval was no different.

He was led to the nearby table, to the chair at the very opposite to Jubstacheit's, and offered tea by a homunculus maid. Casval politely accepted and waited patiently for her to finish pouring him a cup.

The Einzbern head swept a hand in front of his face dismissively. "Please," he said. "You're welcome to just call me Old Man Acht. Almost everyone else does."

Casval gave him a half-smile and nodded once. "Alright. Do forgive my rudeness, but may we get to the point of why I contacted you?"

Jubstacheit closed his eyes and nodded. He picked up his teacup and took a sip, then turned his attention to Casval again. "Go on," he said.

"I come to you today as a representative of the Faust family as a whole, as is the weight of the title of family head. It's come to my attention that none of the three founding families of Fuyuki are participating in this War, and I wish to restore some order in that respect by allying myself to you."

"I see." Jubstacheit leaned back in his chair. "I'd wondered why a family based in Europe would come to Fuyuki."

In truth, the Fausts had no plan to get involved in the beginning. They'd all be seen sure that the Einzberns would create a Master, or perhaps even hire one again, but once news reached that they hadn't prepared for another War ten years after the last and had lost their greatest creation, Illyasviel, Casval jumped into action. The Einzberns had suffered a very crippling blow, right alongside the sudden silence from both the Tohsaka and Matou families. To simply do nothing from a family also renowned for their exploits with homunculi (among other things) felt wrong to Casval.

He explained as such in a concise, neutral statement, and Jubstacheit stroked his beard for a moment. It was hard to get a read on the man's thoughts with such a blank expression, but Casval wasn't going to be deterred. If he and Lancer were going to win the Grail War, they needed the Einzberns on their side.

"Casval, was it?" Jubstacheit asked. Casval nodded once. "I wish to see your Servant."

The request caught him off guard, and Casval blinked a few times as he processed what Jubstacheit had said. He _wanted_ Casval's Servant in the castle? Was this a sign of trust? Or perhaps a way for Jubstacheit to weigh his potential? Either way Casval was getting further than he'd anticipated in this first visit. A minute passed as he cleared his throat and nodded, and he called for Lancer as Jubstacheit watched with careful eyes.

It didn't take long for Lancer to appear by his side, next to an empty seat. The homunculus maid walked over and set down a teacup for her, filling it wordlessly as Lancer passed her own judgements on the room.

 _The old man isn't as foolish as he seems_ , she commented. Casval barely glanced at her, keeping his focus on Jubstacheit.

 _Oh?_ he prompted.

 _He has a failsafe in this specific room. Were I to attack, or perhaps abscond with the Grail's vessel, you would be assaulted from all sides until I am unable to keep my form._

So he was still being cautious. Casval felt oddly relieved that the Einzbern head hadn't lost his sense of wariness following two defeats and countless losses.

"A Lancer," Jubstacheit observed. "How did you acquire the catalyst needed to summon her?"

Casval let himself smile knowingly. "Faust family secret," he said. Jubstacheit raised his brows, but he looked amused nonetheless. "Just as the Einzberns have their methods, we have ours."

Lancer nodded once to Jubstacheit as she pulled out a chair and sat down. She barely touched her tea, disinterested.

"I am Scáthach, queen and gatekeeper of the Land of Shadows," she said. Lancer held herself with the utmost grace and pride, almost as though telling Jubstacheit _he_ should be respecting _her_. Considering how old she was and her legend, it wasn't too harsh a demand. "I had intended to ignore the call of the Grail, but my Master has proven himself worthy of my time."

Jubstacheit looked at Casval with wide eyes. "Remarkable. In all my years, I've never heard of a mage summoning a Servant whose legend regarded them as immortal."

"Therein lies Lancer's wish," Casval said. Lancer nodded in agreement, seemingly pleased he'd remembered her demands should they win the Grail. "But talks of our dedication to the Grail will do nothing to prove our cause. That is why, Old Man Acht, I would like to _show_ you our dedication."

Casval pulled at the fingers of his surgical glove. One by one they fell loose and allowed him to free his hand, until finally the design of his command spells was visible to all in the room. All three were still there, unused—until now.

"Lancer," Casval said, and the command spells began to glow in response to his intentions. "By order of command spell, you are to ensure the wellbeing of the Holy Grail's vessel until the time comes to begin the ritual."

A glow settled over Lancer for a moment. Brighter and brighter, until finally its reach halted. As Casval's hand burned with a command spell fading away, the light around Lancer vanished. He looked at Lancer for confirmation of success, and to his relief he was met with an approving nod and smile.

Jubstacheit clapped once, his smile growing at the display. "Well now," he chuckled. "I suppose I can't ignore your request with a condition such as that."

He clicked his fingers once, signalling the maid to leave the room. She wasted no time exiting through the door behind Jubstacheit, and Casval assumed it was only a matter of time before the Grail vessel would be brought back with her.

"I've named her Rettferkrone," Jubstacheit said. He leaned back into his seat and folded his arms over his lap. "There were... 'demands' made by the last mage I left a Grail vessel in the hands of. However, unlike the leniency I granted with Irisviel, Rettferkrone has not been allowed to become immersed in the outside world. She can recognise danger and assist Lancer in ensuring her wellbeing, but her ultimate purpose is to host the Grail." For the first time during the visit, Jubstacheit actually glared at Casval sternly. A warning. "You are not to indulge her in the experiences of modern society. By handing her over into your custody, Casval, I trusting you to simply keep her under lock and key until you decide the time is right to summon the Grail. Am I understood?"

Casval rose from his chair and tucked it back in place carefully. Once he was a good distance from the table's edge, he bowed to Jubstacheit. "Of course, Old Man Acht. You have my word."

"Good man." The door behind Jubstacheit opened again, and the maid entered once more—this time with a tall woman in tow, her face exactly the same as the maid's. Typical of a homunculus, she was pallid and red-eyed, with snow-white hair that, unlike the maid's long braid, was cut into a short bob. Her expression was blank, but she was more than aware of what she was doing as she approached Jubstacheit while the maid returned to her cart.

Lancer stood up and moved to Casval's side. All that was left was for Rettferkrone to leave with them.

The homunculus moved her gaze from Jubstacheit to the duo, and she was quick to pinch the sides of her skirt and curtsey. "I am Rettferkrone von Einzbern," she said monotonously. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master and Servant of the Sixth Grail War."

"I trust she will be safe in your home?" Jubstacheit went on. Casval nodded. He put his surgical glove back on before offering a hand for Rettferkrone to take.

As she moved forward to take it, he told Jubstacheit, "My study has a safe room built into it. While my home is protected by a bounded field, the safe room will be suitable in keeping her safe. Even if someone were to attempt to break in, they'd have to deal with Lancer first."

With a final nod of approval, Jubstacheit dismissed the trio.

* * *

 **Evangeline**

" _Duchesse_ , _Sabre_ ," Puss whispered loudly. Evangeline jolted upright at the sound of his voice, and she was soon overtaken by elation. If he'd come back, he'd found somewhere for them to hide just a little while longer!

"Over here, Puss," she whispered back. Saber sat beside her, his silver arm clutching his injury as he tried to hide his exhaustion. "What'd you find?"

The cat pounced through the bushes, landing on all fours in front of them. Evangeline had played around with his appearance this time around, changing him from a short-haired tabby to a long-haired, blue Persian. At least anyone looking for him didn't know what he looked like now.

"There are considerable stairs to climb, but I found a temple," he reported. He reared back up on his hind legs and gestured up behind Evangeline, where the foliage became thinner and the night sky was just a little more visible. "'Tis abandoned. More so, there is a garden that seems to have overgrown since someone last lived here—the weather tended to it, I suspect. We needn't leave for supplies and endanger ourselves until _Sabre_ is in better health."

Instead of jumping for joy like Evangeline was ready to, Saber gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak. "Why was it abandoned?"

Puss tilted his head to the side. "That, I do not know. There are traces of... _something_ in the air, like a calamity had befallen the previous residents, but there is no attempt from the government to keep anyone away."

She looked at Saber for his reaction. If there was something keeping other people away, then maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to go to the temple. She loved the idea of the temple being a substitute for a tower, the ominous feeling replacing a dragon—but if it would slay her knight...

Evangeline shook her head and jumped to her feet. No. This would work out. If there was one thing she'd make sure of, it'd be that her fairytale hideaway would become a reality.

She helped Saber to his feet. Evangeline was met with a surprised expression, Saber lost for words as she held onto him carefully. "We'll be okay," she decided. Saber looked ready to argue, but stopped himself rather fast. Instead he smiled weakly and nodded before another spike of pain shot through him.

"I will guide you both there," Puss offered. Evangeline shook her head.

"I need to give as much mana as possible to Saber. I'll call for you if something happens, Puss."

The cat bowed and vanished without another word. Evangeline let out a slow breath. She and Saber wandered just towards the outskirts of the forest area before they were forced to stop, and neither could help the dismayed stare they aimed at the summit of the long, steep stairs.

There was no way she'd be able to carry Saber up all these stairs, and if he dematerialised then how well could she keep an eye on him? As much as it would be easier, Evangeline just couldn't bear the thought of accidentally leaving her injured Servant behind. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She supposed she had no choice in the matter, even after saying she didn't need Puss around.

"Master?" Saber asked. Evangeline didn't respond. She instead focused on the various fairytales she'd grown up reading, every creature and demon and saint that appeared in them. She sifted through their titles— _Snow White; The Seven Ravens; Rapunzel; The Wedding of Mrs. Fox_ —until finally she found something that would work for their situation.

She recalled the tale of The Two Brothers. She recalled the brother who rescued the princess with the help of the animals he'd encountered along the way: The hare, the fox, the bear, the lion.

Evangeline pictured the lion perfectly in her mind. She could see its beautiful mane and powerful claws. Distantly she could hear its low rumble of a growl—and when she opened her eyes, suddenly more drained than before, it was before her.

Saber stared with wide eyes down at the lion. It stared back, though made no move to attack. Evangeline sagged against Saber and let out a small, innocent laugh despite herself. He knew this was another demon she'd summoned, but he was still surprised by the sight of it.

"Hello, Mr. Lion," she said. The lion's golden gaze landed on her, and its head nodded once in greeting. "Can you please help us up these stairs? Saber's injured and I can't carry him on my own."

"I don't mind simply—"

Evangeline shook her head, stopping Saber before he could finish. "I'm scared I'll lose you if you dematerialise. At least this way I know you're still by my side."

Her response clearly bewildered him. He hesitated to even respond until finally, to Evangeline's inner glee, his expression softened and he smiled down at her. "If that's what you want, Master."

Saber climbed atop the lion and made sure to leave enough room at the front for Evangeline. She grabbed his prosthetic arm and was hoisted effortlessly onto the lion's back, hands buried in its mane while Saber held her steady from behind. The lion paced itself at first, taking careful steps up the stairs, but it soon broke into a light run that threw the cold night air in Evangeline's face.

They would make it to the temple Puss had described in no time. At least now they had a solid place to stay for the night, and maybe somewhere to establish a home base for the time.

They rode in silence for a while, but eventually Saber brought a conversation to light. He never usually started a chat with Evangeline, but something about his opinion of her must've changed today. Evangeline felt hope rise in her chest—did he see her as noble? Princess-like? Princesses were usually delicate, yet full of pure intentions and concern for their loved ones. Had he seen that in her tonight?

"Master," he said. "Why do you seek the Holy Grail?"

Evangeline pushed a few blonde locks out of her face and tucked them behind her ear. Did she even have a wish anymore? She knew she'd come into the War with one in mind, but the last two days with Saber had her wondering if it still warranted granting.

"My wish..." Evangeline chewed her lip. She leaned back against Saber and tilted her head back, trying to look him in the eye. She got an awkward view of his chin and nose instead. "Saber, how do you feel about me?"

He seemed caught off-guard by the question, but still did his best to answer. "You are a thoughtful, caring Master," he told her. One hand came up to pat her head as he smiled down at her. "I find myself blessed to have been summoned by you, even if only for a time. You don't seek to harm others, nor do you wish to carry a weapon that may do so unintentionally. That alone is worthy of a knight's respect."

She beamed up at him. "Then I already had my wish granted. I've always wanted to have a knight in shining armour by my side, one who loved me enough to protect me."

Once again she surprised him. Instead of letting it show for long, though, Saber broke out into a large grin and began to chuckle.

"I suppose that renders the Grail obsolete, then," he laughed. Evangeline giggled along with him.

The lion slowed its pace, finally close to the top of the stairs. Evangeline watched as they passed through the gate of the temple, and she didn't have it in her to hold back the uncomfortable chill that went down her spine. It was an otherwise normal temple, some parts destroyed and sectioned off by police tape, but it felt so off. Like something made of hatred and despair had made its home here, and its mere presence was enough to keep anyone away.

This was Ryuudou Temple, she guessed. According to the locals it used to be a community of its own, always so clean and welcoming to the public. But now look at it—it was a shell of its former self, the warm feeling replaced by only a deathly chill.

The lion came to a halt near one of the rooms that were still intact. Saber climbed off first, then helped Evangeline. She wasted no time asking the lion to watch the gate while they rested.

Like the night before, Saber draped his cloak over her as a blanket to keep her warm. Evangeline leaned against the wall and did her best to go to sleep right away, but her mind was abuzz with excitement.

Saber cared. Saber enjoyed being her Servant. Saber was, as he said, the one wish she'd had for the Grail. He believed he wouldn't be with her for long, though, and it made her worry. What would she do if she lost Saber? Would she be okay? Ever since leaving her family, trying to live alone and keeping her crest safe, the true fairytales had been far and few between. All she had were her demons, summoned in the image of her beloved fables.

Evangeline leaned against Saber's shoulder as he kept watch of the doorway. Maybe she did have a wish for the Grail still. Maybe that wish would be to have Saber by her side, no matter how much time passed.

Yes, she thought as she closed her eyes. An eternity with her knight, granting her a happily ever after, was the perfect wish for the Grail.


	8. 07

**New chapter! Hope this one came out alright and that you guys enjoy!**

* * *

 **07**

 **Day Three: Afternoon**

 **Rider**

She tapped her toes against the floor impatiently.

Berserker—definitely not one of her beloveds. Saber—also not one of her beloveds. Caster— _far_ from one of her beloveds. Assassin—dead, so what the hell did it matter? Archer—some man of the forest, but not one of her beloveds. Lancer?

Well, Lancer was the last bastion of hope she had for a reunion.

"You seem agitated, Rider," Takuya said around his teacup. Chiaki was already serving him an afternoon brew, the young man resting between battles.

Rider let out a harrumph and crossed her arms in front of her. "All these men, and none of them are my darlings," she huffed. If Takuya didn't have the sash over his eyes, she'd swear he was staring blankly at her. "And don't get me wrong, I _love_ being around all of them and seeing what they can bring to the table, but it's just not the same as Fergus or Conchobar or—"

Rider sighed longingly. She sank into a chair and set her chin on the palms of her hands, the memory of that wonderful, unobtainable man from her era fresh in her mind.

"Or Cú."

After finishing another sip, Takuya set down his teacup perfectly atop its saucer. "Ireland's Child of Light," he said. Rider nodded in agreement, excited that the man of her dreams was still relevant today. "If I'm not mistaken, he was famous for wielding Gáe Bolg. Yes?"

"Oh, absolutely! Never had I seen a better spearman, and even my own army couldn't stand a chance against him. I don't think I'll ever forget that gorgeous glow Gáe Bolg gave off."

Takuya frowned. He furrowed his brows and inclined his head toward Chiaki. "Perhaps Archer had misheard," he said, no longer addressing Rider. Chiaki hummed once, clearly as curious as her charge about whatever revelation they'd come to.

Rider blinked at them, no longer distracted by her thoughts of Cú. What was wrong? More than that, had Archer told them something and not her? Rider clenched her fists tightly under her chin. Oh, that mischievous little—

"Regardless," Takuya went on, smiling again and turning his attention back to Rider, "I believe I'll be busy today with contacting the Association. I imagine you'll be rather bored waiting around all day. Why not explore Fuyuki without needing to keep an eye on other Masters and Servants?"

Rider tilted her head to the side. He was just going to let her do what she wanted, like that? Wasn't he worried about what kind of havoc Rider could wreck? Or was Takuya spoiling her by showing his trust? She had no doubts that he was being honest and that he really was going to spend the rest of the day following up on the other Masters they'd seen. It was just how easily he let her do as she pleased. Rider was all for doing what she wanted, but her experiences with most men always showed a need to fight for that right. They all fell for the trick that she was to be dominated, intellectually and physically.

Rider didn't argue this to Takuya, though. She jumped out of her chair and bounced to his side of the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and letting out a small squeal.

"That sounds so fun!" she cheered. Chiaki stared dryly at her over Takuya, and Rider couldn't help the smug smile she regarded the other woman with. "You don't mind if I go out?"

Takuya chuckled and shrugged. Rider removed herself from him and he took another sip of tea. "Only if you don't go wild."

She grinned at him, and almost made the mistake of winking. She just kept forgetting that the sash was there, stopping any knowing looks from being exchanged. Rider instead settled for a giggle and a coy agreement to keep her evening out as tame as possible.

Chiaki had gone shopping for clothes upon Rider's request as soon as she was summoned, but Rider would soon find the garments to be too modest for her beautiful physique. It felt unfair to hide, even if the weather was on the chilly side once the sun began to set—but Rider was from a land of snow! More than that, she was a Heroic Spirit! No amount of cold wind would stop her from putting on her best outfit for a night on the town.

It had taken a horrendous amount of snipping and sewing, but Rider managed to turn the conservative pencil skirt and blazer into something more her style. Rider strolled out of Takuya's home with a satisfied expression on her face. With her skirt reaching just above her thighs, the straps of her garter belt visible underneath, and her blouse reduced to being sleeveless, blazer draped over her shoulder, Fuyuki was _far_ from prepared to handle the presence of Queen Medb of Connacht.

She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to do first. There certainly were a few sights she'd love to see, mostly the attractions in Shinto that tourists would flock to. The Grail had fed her plenty of information on Fuyuki itself, so there was no shortage of places to choose from while she passed the time and Takuya focused on his Association business. Rider entered the hustle and bustle of the evening crowd, and the immediate turns of heads in her direction filled her with pride. She walked with her head held high, a smile on her face as she made brief eye contact with those who passed her.

Not many attractions stayed open once the schools let out and the sun went down. Rider found herself wandering through markets rather than grand attractions, some of the food smelling nostalgic while others smelt dazzling and unfamiliar. She never necessarily needed to eat now that she had a steady supply of mana from Takuya, but there was no harm in enjoying some of the things the quaint little stalls had to offer.

Her attention was soon drawn to a man selling little fish-shaped cakes— _taiyaki_ , she was certain they were called—and Rider wasted no time turning on the charm to snag one for herself. The elderly man was smitten with her, hardly questioning her excuse of forgetting her wallet back at her hotel room. Rider watched gleefully as he bagged one for her, the inside of the _taiyaki_ stuffed with chocolate; she thanked him, called him a sweetheart, as she walked away with a free dessert for the evening. As she turned to continue down the street, she found herself being stared at by a girl in a local high school uniform.

The girl, bespectacled and skinny but still pretty in her own reserved way, gaped at Rider and the _taiyaki_. She held the strap of her bag tightly, and when she realised Rider was staring back at her she looked away with a light blush covering her cheeks. Rider grinned. Had she the time, maybe she could take on a few young women as disciples—teach the elegance and love she'd been renowned for back in her era.

Rider broke the _taiyaki_ in half and as she approached the girl, she held the bag with the tail out for her to take. The bespectacled girl gawked, but took the bag anyway, and Rider could only wink knowingly as she went on her way.

The rest of Rider's evening would've gone perfectly. It would've been amazing. It would've been the most relaxed she'd been in a long time. But, as with all of her more enjoyable moments, it came to a jarring halt with just one person's presence.

Rider felt her presence before she saw her. It was hard to ignore the feeling of another Servant in the vicinity, watching her like a sideshow instead of a work of art. Rider ground her teeth together and scanned the crowd around her. Which Servant dared to approach her in the middle of a crowded street, to possibly attack her in the open? Who would be so brazen? Rider crossed her arms in front of her chest and zeroed in on the presence calling out to her.

She began to eat the _taiyaki_ once her eyes drifted upwards, to the taller buildings around the stalls. Rider didn't even savour the chocolate filling as she focused on one building in particular, on the flash of red she saw glistening from its heights. She knew that shade of red anywhere, but this feeling in the back of her mind—this was not her beloved Cú's gaze, not even when he was at his fiercest.

The red darted to another building. Rider walked calmly down the street until she was closer to the next apartment block the red jumped to. Her view of the Servant was becoming clearer and clearer, and Rider _loathed_ the idea of who this Lancer possibly was.

She saw the long purple hair fluttering in the wind. She saw the second red spear emerge from behind the figure as though taunting her with the weapon's identity.

That bitch, Rider thought. She stared up at the apartment complex, unblinking, and Lancer— _Scáthach_ —stared back. Of all the people to be brought into the same War as her, to be related to her beloveds, it had to be Scáthach. Rider would've been content with even Ferdiad. Or better yet, someone from an entirely different part of the world and era. But no, the Grail was cruel and exercised its sick sense of humour.

That bitch, Rider thought again as she stopped just outside a bar that was slowly opening its doors for the night crowd. Lancer's expression was a blank mask, unreadable even to Rider, but she just knew the woman was thinking the same thing. Both adored Cú, and both knew the other did. Rider was willing to bet that Lancer was cursing her just as hard in return.

 _That bitch_ , she thought once more, and it wasn't until she heard Takuya respond that she realised she'd telegraphed the statement to him.

 _Rider? What's happening?_

Rider sucked in a deep breath and turned for the bar. She was going to have to take some drastic measures if Scáthach was here.

 _I know who Lancer is,_ she told Takuya. _And I'm pissed off._

There was silence. Takuya didn't seem to want to press for details just yet, and it left Rider with a sense of relief. No interruptions would make this infinitely easier.

She took a seat at the bar's counter and ordered the strongest ale available. One by one the other seats would be filled, and Rider stopped counting how many people walked in and out as time ticked by. She finished her first pint with relative ease, and by the time the second pint was in front of her she was beginning her plan to stand against Lancer.

There was hardly any time to include Takuya in this planning, and with how busy he'd be with his Association mission, it wasn't like she'd get caught scheming in the first place. Rider smirked over the rim of her ale. With any luck, that nuisance who dared called herself a queen would be significantly weakened by her dependence on a Master. Rider would have the upper hand, a superior source of power, and come the end of the war she'd have the one thing they both sought—Cú Chulainn.

* * *

 **Momoko**

Her head was pounding. Her arm was killing her. No matter how much she seemed to rest, she found herself more and more tired with every awakening. Momo was, in short, having a shit day to end all shit days.

She was half-dangling out of her bed while Berserker sat down beside her. He seemed to be slowly recovering, the damage from the collapsed building seeming to be minimal compared to the arrow that grazed Momo's arm. She was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on with all that happened last night—like what that big attack Berserker let out was, and why it had drained her to the point of falling unconscious just moments after he'd performed it. Was this the special ability the priest said all Servants had? The Phantasm thing? If so, _damn_ —that was a pretty big show just to catch the guy they were chasing.

At least now she knew the man at the store was a Master. That was one positive Momo could take away from last night.

Momo groaned and peeled herself off the bed. Berserker looked down at her, barely even letting a growl slip. He was back to his calmer, less _berserk_ state. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was—

"Sunset?!" She jumped to her feet and ran for the nearby window. The sky was darkening and the sun was dipping behind the buildings around her makeshift home. Had she slept the whole day away? Momo gawked at the sky and then at Berserker. The man didn't seem to move much at the revelation like she had.

Momo stumbled for her closet and made quick work of changing out of yesterday's clothes. She ignored the sight of two of her command spells looking washed out and more like bruises than markings, and slipped on the dark purple hoodie hidden away at the back of her closet. It was no doubt going to be chilly tonight, and however brief her trip would be she wanted to keep warm while out and about.

She hadn't had any time to shoplift some meals for tonight, and if she waited too long then even Pan-Oba would close her doors. And Momo was _starving_. A starving Momo was not a happy Momo.

She finally got her heeled boots on and gestured to Berserker. He stood up high, but made sure to bend his neck so his head didn't go through the ceiling. "We gotta hurry!" Momo insisted.

Part of her was glad Berserker picked her up and carried her out of their home with one arm. She wasn't sure how she was going to run at her fastest in knee-high boots and a pleated skirt without tripping on the pavement at some point. Berserker tried to shut the door behind him (and failed) and once Momo said, "To Pan-Oba's!" he leapt high into the evening sky.

Pan-Oba was still clearing up her bakery when they arrived across the street. Momo jogged across the road at first, relieved to see that a chance for a meal hadn't been missed. But once she saw Pan-Oba pacing and fixing her hair over and over, touching her face out of sheer nerves, Momo came to a halt. She'd never seen the old woman look so concerned, even when it came to Momo herself.

Berserker waddled behind her and let out a low growl. Momo looked up at him, a hand held to calm him, and when she looked back to the bakery she met the gaze of Pan-Oba. There was a mixture of emotions on the woman's face—worry, relief, confliction. Something must have happened today. Perhaps she'd been worried about Momo for going absolutely silent and not showing up earlier.

Pan-Oba scuttled to the door and opened it slowly. It was the slow movement that was meant to keep the bell from ringing above the door. Momo bristled.

"Momoko!" Pan-Oba hissed. She nodded for the girl to come inside. "I need to talk to you! Bring Berserker with you."

This was concerning. Momo hesitated to take a step forward, almost feeling threatened by the urgent tone in the old woman's voice; but Berserker patted her on the back once, almost like he was reassuring her, and she wasted no time lifting her chin and approaching the bakery with a confident stride.

"What's up?" Momo said casually. If she was easygoing, maybe the tension Pan-Oba was giving off would ease away.

It wasn't until Momo and Berserker were inside and Pan-Oba carefully shut the door—again, to keep the bell from ringing—that an explanation came their way.

"The woman I told you about," Pan-Oba said in a rush. "She came back just a few minutes before you got here. I tried to have her leave before closing but she's so adamant the child she's looking for will show up here."

Momo's eyes grew to the size of saucers. Aura Sasaki... She was here?

"I wanted to give you some bread and send you on your way rather than have you help out tonight." Pan-Oba hurried to the counter and pulled out one tray, which was stuffed with bags of leftover pastries and bread from today's sales. It was enough food to last Momo three days—just enough time to keep her away from the store and convince Aura she wasn't here, she realised. "Be careful when you leave—she's just in my living room upstairs—"

"I'll see her."

Pan-Oba blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"I said I'll see her," Momo muttered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Even if Momo hid for a few days, her own baggage would still bother Pan-Oba for Lord knew how long. Pan-Oba had been nothing but good to her—she couldn't just dump this problem on her doorstep without trying to get rid of it. All the free food and the lack of interrogations about her situation, and even the trust she had in Berserker to keep Momo safe... Momo may have been a thief and a little street urchin by society's standards, but she wasn't heartless. "I'll see if I can get rid of her so you don't have to put up with her anymore."

Pan-Oba's expression softened. "Oh, Momoko..."

She pointed to the door behind Pan-Oba. It led to her small kitchen, which had another door out of sight until you entered. "I just go through there, right? And she's waiting upstairs?"

Pan-Oba left her to have the conversation privately. She did, however, give Momo the reassurance that she'd stick by the phone and call the police if it was necessary. Her heart swelled and she led Berserker through the kitchen with a small smile on her face. This wouldn't be all that hard, right?

She'd never been in Pan-Oba's apartment, but there was a first time for everything. It was small, connected directly to the kitchen by its stairwell, and it didn't take Momo too long to spot Aura Sasaki among the quilt-covered furniture and antique decor. At first the woman didn't notice Momo entering, probably assuming it to be Pan-Oba instead, and Momo could only stare longingly at the back of her mother's head.

It'd been so long since she'd seen her in person. She was fourteen now—hadn't she been nine the last time they were face-to-face? When Aura had rejected her so harshly, calling her a street rat and claiming she had no daughter?

 _"For the last time, I have nothing for you!"_

Momo reached up and clutched at her chest, her heart crying out at the piercing words that had been Aura's farewell. Momo stared at the back of Aura's head, at the short blue hair that matched her own like they were carbon copies. Her knees trembled, her nails digging into her hoodie.

She just had to tell her to go away. She just had to remind Aura that she had no children.

Berserker let out a low growl, this one loud enough for even Aura to hear. The woman gasped, jumping to her feet and whirled around to face them, her arm lighting up with green patterns as she aimed her outstretched hand at the duo. The harsh glare on her face soon turned into heartbreak, and she pulled her hand back to remove the cigarette at her lips and extinguish it.

"Hotaru," Aura gasped. Momo's whole body froze at the use of her birth name—the name she buried when Aura had abandoned her. " _Hotaru_..."

Momo's knuckles turned white as her grip only tightened. "I—I thought... I thought you d—didn't have any—" Her throat was closing up with every word she tried to force out. "— _children_."

Aura sniffed and shook her head. She didn't dare move from the couch she stood in front of, keeping her distance from Momo like she knew the girl—like she knew she'd lash out if Aura made one false move. "I know," Aura said, her voice beginning to strain. Her lip trembled before she forced herself to steel her expression. "I said so many horrible things to you. I tossed you aside."

" _You're damn right you did!_ "

Momo couldn't hold back the screech that came out. Aura winced, her composure slipping at the agreement, but she didn't dare interrupt just yet. Momo's breathing was haggard as she went on, "I waited so long for you! You made me believe you loved me, that you wanted me! You _abandoned_ me for the people who wanted me gone!"

She wiped at her eyes, hoping to catch the tears before they could fall. She hid her face behind her sleeve, and Aura took advantage of the silence to plead her case.

"I betrayed the Sasaki clan."

What? Momo gave up trying to keep herself from crying. She stared at Aura and let the tears fall, only able to utter a weak, "You betrayed me first."

"And it's unforgivable," Aura agreed. "I thought I could survive watching you grow from afar, letting you run the course of your life without such a hateful family wanting you out of the picture. I thought I could wait until it was safe to come back, or to wait until you were old enough to—to do _something_ , anything you wanted."

Momo sniffed. Against her better judgement, she asked, "What changed?"

Genuine malice crossed Aura's expression. It was so familiar to the face she'd shown Momo when she was nine, used to convince her she had no mother anymore. Momo shuddered, but stood her ground as she remembered Berserker's presence behind her.

"They were going to sacrifice you," Aura growled. Her hands curled into tight fists by her sides, shaking with pure rage. "I did everything they wanted and came back like a good girl, and they still wanted more. You heard my voice that night, didn't you? At the site you were attacked at?"

It was hard to forget. Momo had even called for her mother that night when she thought she was truly going to die.

"I was supposed to be Berserker's Master. For a brief moment I was." Aura lifted one of her fists, and the bruises on the back of her hand seemed to corroborate with her claim. "The Grail chose me as a Master, and my first act upon summoning Berserker was having him kill the members of my... Of _our_ family who'd witnessed me summon him. I had just enough time to transfer the command spells before you came to, and Berserker hadn't registered you as a sacrifice just yet." Aura chewed her lip and lowered her hand. "I was ready to attack if he didn't accept you, though."

The story was so farfetched, but it made some sense. Hearing Aura's voice, but never seeing a body among the other corpses. The directions written on her arm to head for Fuyuki Church. Berserker turning for Momo like he'd only just noticed her, too busy killing the Sasaki family members attending. Momo sniffed loudly and wiped at her face again.

"Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made," Aura went on. "And if I have to forsake an entire clan of magi to be with you again, to be your mother like I should've all this time, then... Then they can kiss my prodigious ass. I'll _gladly_ hand the crest back over to them if that's what it takes to keep you safe from them."

She wanted it all to be true. As bitter as she was over the last five years, Momo wanted so bad for Aura's words to be true. Momo could hardly breathe as she watched Aura helplessly. Her mind was going haywire as everything she'd built up over the years finally turned on itself.

 _I don't need her._

 _I missed her._

 _I don't love her._

 _I still love her._

 _I don't want her._

 _I want her._

 _I don't have to forgive her._

 _But I want so bad to._

 _I don't believe her._

 _But I want it to be true_.

Momo stumbled forward, all fight sapped from her as she reached for Aura. Aura opened her arms wide, tearing up herself as Momo drew closer and closer. She was mere feet away, close enough to hear Momo whimper, "Mama—"

Berserker's arm swiped across the living room. A rush of wind knocked Momo to the floor, and glass shattered to her right as the sound of a thud echoed through the street. Momo opened her eyes to see Aura missing, and when she saw Berserker's arm still raised in the aftermath of a swipe, she panicked.

Momo made it to the edge of the window before she finally shrieked in horror. Her shoulder was warm, a reminder of her command spell from a mere two days ago. In the middle of the road, where other passerby had stopped to try and help her, was a mangled and bloodied Aura Sasaki. Momo's mother.

A few people looked up at the window, Berserker thankfully out of sight, and Momo tried to keep herself from becoming too much of a mess to scream down at them, "Call an ambulance!"

* * *

 **Matsuo**

"Working late tonight?"

Matsuo hummed once at Kirigaya. She didn't usually make much comment whenever she left, but there were her rare days whenever she wanted to bug someone on her way out.

"You need a shower," Kirigaya added as she walked past his desk. Matsuo gave her one dry glare, and she smirked down at him. "Try not to let the Oshiro case keep you up all night. We've already got enough obsessive detectives in our unit."

He wasn't too in the mood for her jokes. Nevertheless, he deadpanned back, "We've already got enough bratty detectives in our unit, but you still keep going."

Kirigaya flipped him off as the elevator doors shut behind her.

There was hardly anyone left in the office aside from himself, and Matsuo deemed it safe to open his emails on his laptop. He'd spent a good portion of the morning trying to get hold of Saizou, but the most success he'd reached was an email address that the man supposedly checked once a day. There were things he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to miss his chance and leave it for too late. More than that, he had to let Saizou know that Assassin had lost to Caster and that Matsuo was no longer a Master—unless he could convince another Servant to ally with him, that was.

There were no new emails, and he let out a heavy sigh as he minimised the window. Damn it, Saizou. Whatever happened to being ready at a moment's notice to help?

Matsuo clicked his tongue and leaned back in his desk chair. Ever since convincing Katerina—Katya? Did he call her Katya now?—to ally with him, he'd been desperate for information on her that wasn't available to the public. He wasn't all that experienced with mage stuff, but he knew for a fact that it paid to know about other families and their heirs, especially those involved in the Grail War. It wasn't like he could ask her this stuff himself, either. She'd be more likely to drop the alliance and order him to go to the Church for sanctuary.

He rose from his chair and let out a groan. Knowing his luck he'd have to wait until tomorrow to talk to Saizou, so he may as well get started on something else. He knew so far that the last Grail War was ten years ago, and the one before that was ten years earlier. Usually around the same time, he noted, which have him a sneaking suspicion that some events in those wars would've been reported to local police and brushed off as hallucinations.

Matsuo would've headed straight for the archives if not for the distraction that fell upon the precinct. Phones rang, the closest one being on Kirigaya's desk, and Matsuo watched as his co-workers scrambled to answer their own. One by one they all swore under their breaths and rummaged through their desks, and the field officers put on their coats without even stopping to shut down their computers.

One detective, a veteran named Sato, actually paused by Matsuo's desk on his way out.

"Who died?" Matsuo half-joked. The place normally wasn't in a crisis like this unless something big happened.

Sato wiped his brow and began buttoning up his coat. "No idea yet," he wheezed. "All I know is that paramedics are at a little bakery in Shinto and some poor woman is fighting for her life like she just got run over by a speeding truck."

Had Matsuo been holding anything, he'd have dropped it in shock.

"Was she?"

"Was she what, Ueda?"

"Hit by a truck?"

Sato scoffed. "That'd make our job infinitely easier," he grumbled. He shook his head and gestured to Matsuo's own coat draped over his desk chair, an invitation to see for himself. "C'mon, I'll fill you in on what patrol officers on the scene told me."

Matsuo wasted no time shutting down his computer and leaving the precinct with Sato. They took a squad car and kept the windows up as the sirens blared, and as cars pulled over to let them pass Sato explained the situation. Less than half an hour ago the owner of the small bakery called the police about a possible dispute, and over the course of five minutes all hell broke loose. According to witnesses the woman fighting for her life had seemingly been thrown from the second floor of the building, right out the window.

There'd apparently been a young girl in the second floor at the time, and she'd screamed for an ambulance to be called before she vanished from the scene.

"The injuries don't line up with just being pushed out the window, though," Sato went on as they approached a street that had been sealed off. They were close. "Her entire right arm and half of her right leg were crushed, and the distance she landed from the window was too far even for a running start."

"So it was like she was hit at full speed _in_ the apartment," Matsuo said.

Sato nodded. "Un-fucking-believable. First we get hit with all the calls about an explosion at a construction site last night, and now this. Always every decade we get this shit that ends up with the cold cases," he scoffed.

Matsuo blinked. This would definitely save him time looking through the archives. "How so?"

Sato's car came to a stop just a short distance from the scene, where other investigators were already interviewing the owner of the bakery and any remaining witnesses who'd stayed behind. None of the street had been cleaned just yet, leaving Matsuo a chalk outline and blood to fill in the blanks.

"Let's see," Sato sighed. He didn't make a move to exit the car yet. "Ten years ago we had a whole office building fall unconscious, most of them into comas, after a mysterious gas leak that we never got to the bottom of. And you know Ryuudou Temple? A fire broke out that destroyed half the area, and all the monks and construction workers in Fuyuki who tried to rebuild it kept falling ill. One poor bastard even died after continuously going back to try again."

"Shit," Matsuo said. It was all he could say, really. He'd have to pick Sato's brain some more about all the stuff he'd seen each decade, especially if it could give him any indicators of what to expect from any Servants or cases that popped up this year.

They both made a move to exit the car and investigate with the others, but a knock at Sato's window stopped them. Sato wound it down, facing a man clearly of a higher rank, and was promptly told, "Got someone to keep a lookout for. You mind patrolling the area for any sign of 'em?"

The other man handed a piece of paper to Sato. Matsuo peeked over at it, finding a drawing of what looked to be just a young teen.

"Sure," Sato said. He handed the paper to Matsuo and nodded to his subordinate. "We'll give you a call if we find anything."

"Before you go—owner identified her with the name 'Momoko'. Can't say for sure if it's a real name, but if you have to ask around then that name's a good start."

Matsuo stared down at the image as the window was rolled back up and Sato reversed out of the area. Momoko, huh? He had no idea what a young kid would be doing here, let alone why she'd flee—at least under normal circumstances. But with the knowledge of the secret world hidden from mundane eyes, he had a good hunch just what this teen had been doing.

She was probably a Master, and she probably hadn't been careful enough to stay hidden. Matsuo nodded to the picture as he addressed Sato again.

"Drop me back at the precinct when we're done. I'll scan a copy of this to everyone so they can keep an eye open for her."

When Sato agreed, Matsuo felt a hint of relief wash over him. There'd be even less people working once he got back, which meant no one would notice him forward the image to his newfound ally.


End file.
